A Growing World
by Arait
Summary: "Something is only lost because one wishes to find it. But can it be that which was sought, once found, is greater than when it was lost? A whole world can change from a single action of one of its parts." A group of strains start a revolt that puts everyone in danger, and Hayashi Azami (OC) has simultaneously gone missing. Determined, somehow they WILL save her.
1. Prologue: Substitute Special Duty Corps

**_おかえり ! Welcome back readers!_**

 ** _Kateracks and Arait are very excited to offer you the next installment in our series of K fanfics. (If you haven't read Waiting for Totsuka yet, this story probably will not make sense, so please read that one first). Kateracks has an important message for all of you that was amusingly distorted by word complete: "The inky things I can think if stew ways to say t thanks for supporting us cuz when started this we didn't know how far it's go or how popular it'd be."_**

 ** _Arait thinks the message is fully understandable despite the silly typos. We never imagined people would fall in love with our Hayata pairing or grow attached to watching it develop. We never dreamed of 8,500 views, 53 reviews, 44 favorites, and 39 follows. That has so greatly surpassed anything either of us have ever written before that we get all gushy every time the number grows even by 1. Your support truly is so encouraging because we know we aren't the only two who like this world we've altered. (not created. Most of the characters and settings belong to GoRA, after all.)_**

 ** _Here are a few details about this sequel that wouldn't fit in the teaser: this takes place sometime not too long after Missing Kings (so spoiler alert). Azami is still in the Green Clan, but she is starting to learn more about what they truly stand for. Fushimi has his life in Scepter 4. Anna has already been named the new Red King. The title A Growing World is meant to stand in contrast to the official work Lost Small World, so you can expect this to have a lot to do with bonds and friendship (while never neglecting to have a real, supernatural plot). Unfortunately, Totsuka and Suoh remain fully dead :'( so they will not be able to feature greatly in the story. We'll leave it up to your opinion if Haruna, Emi should continue to make frequent appearances._**

 ** _We truly hope you like this story also and continue to support us fully. Enjoy! And let us know what you think, good or bad._**

* * *

The Special Duty Corps of Scepter 4 made a point of doing everything together. Ever since their creation through the reformatting of other Divisions, it had been their commanding officer, Lieutenant Awashima's priority to draw the members of the corps closer. Having been pulled from their former ranks based on what the captain perceived as necessary skills rather than personal relations, there were many of them who seemed, at first, to have nothing in common. After originally having been ordered to "Bond" according to the custom of other clans, they gradually began to group together on their own.

Whether it be going out on the town or staying in at the Annex, practice, games, or dinner, they did it as a team. They partied together. They went to festivals together. They cuddled under blankets in a single room doing absolutely nothing, around a kotatsu all winter—together. It was sickening. These people who, at one point were entirely unaware of each other's existence, pretended to stick to one another closer even than family.

The Special Duty Corps of Scepter 4 went so far as to make Fushimi's life miserable together. That dark haired, young man typically managed to avoid all of their "Bonding" sessions, thus sparing himself quite a bit of pain and suffering. Somehow, they all still tortured him with their group activities, such as that day. The night before Fushimi had escaped a gathering by the skin of his teeth, but he was nearly certain that was the reason every single one of them called in sick.

It wasn't even a weekend or the holiday. They should have expected work in one form or another all day. When the emergency alarm sounded, however, only Fushimi responded from the corps. The lieutenant and he stood impatiently in a strange sort of silence, their annoyance drowning out the wail of sirens. All of a sudden, her phone started ringing off the hook.

First, Hidaka called, sounding dull and exhausted. Then, Enomoto politely excused himself in a voice that could hardly be heard. Domiyouji whined of his pitiful condition. Akiyama sent a text message for him and Benzai assuring that there was no way either one of them could possibly get out of their respective beds that day. The pattern continued down the line to Fuse, Gotou, and Kamo until no one remained except Fushimi and the lieutenant.

There was absolutely no way he would work this mission alone with her. Awashima was a cold woman, strictly business. She made a good superior officer. Her attitude, endowed appearance, and opinion that behavior on the job should be figuratively pressed and starched made her less than pleasant to handle one-on-one. Her presence was imposing, her ability to make small talk lacking, and her admiration for the leader of their organization smothering. Even if the entire Special Duty Corps got "sick" together, he would not work alone with her.

"Fushimi," the lieutenant addressed her only subordinate with pomp and authority.

"Hai." Still unenthused, he did as he should: click his heels together and give her attention with his whole body instead of just a small corner of his brain.

"It would seem the rest of our team have hangovers. To effectively capture this dangerous strain you—"

He interrupted then, hoping to get out of working with her. "Yeah, I'm fine on my own," he mentioned as if trying to finish her sentence.

She gave him a condescending glare for cutting her off and scolded, "Don't be so presumptuous. The captain—as prevoyant as he is—prepared ahead for a situation such as this; although, in all the scenarios he presented, the Special Duty Corps was indisposed due to an epidemic, biological weapon, or some other real disaster." For a moment, her professional exterior cracked, showing something bitter.

As abruptly as it appeared, she hid it again, commanding her troop in the singular sense, "In cases such as this, a backup Special Duty Corps is to be assembled on the spot from a list of prequalified members across other divisions. You are to act as a stabilizing force in the newly formed team." She read the instructions directly from a dossier of papers, and then looked at Fushimi to receive his acceptance of the task.

He was not excited at such prospects. Considering he wasn't really involved in the workings of the regular Special Duty Corps, the thought of being the center of a brand new one sounded like hell. Heavily, he looked away in irritation. They did this on purpose; he was sure of it. How else could it be explained but by deliberate torture of the organization's third-in-command?

Well, it wasn't working alone with Awashima, and for a while he wondered if he hadn't cursed himself for thinking that was the worst that could happen. Of course, those kinds of thoughts were illogical, and he pushed them away when he picked up on an oddity in the lieutenant's description of their captain's orders.

"What would you do if I didn't show up?" He inquired.

Awashima scanned through the pages in her file. "Actually, of all the 12 scenarios presented here, there is only one in which you don't report for duty."

The look on his face could only be described as dumbfounded. "I have to stop coming to work," he concluded.

The lieutenant equally expressed her surprise, "For someone who never follows instructions, the captain sure finds it easy to predict you."

While he pondered the difference between being reliable and being relied upon, Awashima made a phone call to the leaders of the other divisions to gather her new crew. Seeing as all of Scepter 4 was trained to respond quickly to these kinds of urgent missions, it wasn't long before a whole hodge-podge of miscellaneous members of their clan had collected in the vicinity.

Typical formation for roll call before departure on a full-blown mission was a single row in alphabetical order, a quick and efficient structure on most days. When no one in the group knew the names of the other members, it took some time to line up. Fushimi watched, unimpressed, for a little while from the right hand side of the lieutenant. The longer they scrambled to get it right, though, the more he found himself staring at the commercial jet flying far in the distance behind them.

Awashima handed him the file then and told him to familiarize himself with the team. While she was their direct commander, he was the one who would be giving them instructions in the field, so it was important for him to learn the strengths and unique talents of each one. They seemed to be selected even more at random than the normal Special Duty Corps, with a wider age range and variety of physical fitness.

The day's mission had already worn out his patience, and they hadn't even begun. Adding to the frustration, a single person had not yet found his place in line. Going to each individual, the scrawny, blond teen asked everyone their name. Fushimi had only heard the kid's name one time, but once was all it took for him. Their names naturally filtered into the proper order in his mind and were recorded there permanently. He never did understand why it didn't come easily to others, except if they were morons.

He didn't usually help people, but feeling fed up with the blond's incompetence, he informed monotonously, "Genda, you're third from the end."

He first tried to put three people between him and the end but eventually got in his designated location. At that point, Awashima began roll call. When she said a person's name, he would comment only if he had a question about their file. There were no questions for the first swordsman. Akawa of Division 1 had the stats of a robot, and he stood at attention in a similar way. Certainly, nothing worth complaining about appeared in his profile. Even his reason for joining Scepter 4 was "to strive for the cause of justice."

 _It was disgusting,_ Fushimi thought, making a corresponding sound that was hardly noticeable. If he was so perfect, why wasn't he on the original Special Duty Corps? He thought he could imagine their captain, Munakata, elbows propped up on his desk with his piercing eyes and mysterious smile speaking enigmatically, "A person with no flaws is not flawless." His ideal fit for the group was probably the reason he wasn't invited into it.

Bunya from Division 6 didn't seem problematic at first glance through the papers until, upon arriving at his clan entrance certificate, Fushimi noticed it was signed by the former Blue King. After seeing that, he looked closer at the profile and realized this man was already 37. He had served as a Blue Clansman for twenty years already. Even though he performed well in practice scrimmages, he was probably past his prime. Particular strengths listed were: thinking reasonably a properly filling out reports. It seemed he was mostly just used as a liaison to the Intelligence Division from the least frequently called group of swordsmen. _Boring and outdated._

Next in line was a silent character, skin a palish gray with dull eyes and dark hair cropped short. The boy looked so average that he was really easy to overlook. Only when a quiet, generic response was made to Lieutenant Awashima's call of, "Doi, Division 2," did Fushimi look twice to spot the boy by that name. He flipped back to Doi's profile and found it also to be quite ordinary. One thing caught his attention, however. Under the main reason for joining Scepter 4, it read bluntly, "To one day become an elite member of the Gold Clan's Usagi."

"Oi," Fushimi interrupted roll call. "What's this?" The commanding officer turned her attention to him, and he read the statement.

A murmur spread through the other clansmen who considered themselves loyal to the color blue. Was there a traitor among them? Someone who wasn't completely devoted to their captain, Munakata? They didn't like the idea at all, and even if it had been true, it didn't seem like something that should be written plainly for the public to know.

In his own defense, Doi stepped forward and explained, "When the captain recruited me, I declined saying that is my goal. He then informed me that, since Scepter 4 is at times thought of as a clan subordinate to the Gold Clan, I should join Scepter 4 as a stepping stone to reach my goal. Who knows if I might not be recruited by them based upon my performance here."

The lieutenant's face was one of baffled admiration. "It is true that we have close ties with the Gold King but..." she faded off, thinking in her mind that only someone as clever as Munakata would use that to his advantage.

Fushimi scoffed to himself, _Gullible,_ and then commented, "Only a fool would believe that."

Then came Genda, Division 6, the scrawny blond who seemed very jittery standing there. Deciding the kid probably had OCD, Fushimi didn't even give that one a second thought. He wrote Genda off as a _lost cause_ and turned his papers to the next line: Hotaru, Intelligence Division R&D.

 _Research and Development, great._ The sarcasm came naturally. A few facts stood out immediately on the profile—namely the lab coat in the picture, the "N/A" written in the Sword Skill field, and finally the gender.

"What the hell is she doing here?" He grumbled to Awashima. _Nothing_ in her profile was acceptable.

Like the invisible boy before her, Hotaru spoke for herself but in a rather cheeky, audacious way, "Do you have a problem with me being female?"

He looked her over with a click of his tongue. Like their commanding officer, she was obligated to wear the degrading woman's uniform, with the inconveniently placed, decorative buttons across the chest. She happened to look more uncomfortable than Awashima in the low cut, v-neck jacket and the skirt that was way too short. She also didn't fill it out quite as nicely.

"It's everything else," he countered.

Not satisfied with such a vague answer, she demanded, "What in particular?" Her tone of voice was definitely intended to provoke, even as she maintained her own calm.

"You have no combat training, for one," he pointed out.

Puffing out her chest, she replied, "Just because I work in the lab and don't practice in the dojo with the swordsman divisions does not mean I can't hold my own in battle."

As well as she could say that with confidence, he didn't believe it. Her slender frame, the complete lack of muscle mass, and the sweat glistening on the trembling hand that clutched her saber were all evidences in her disfavor. Fushimi stared at her incredulously. More than anything, her hair bothered him.

In response to his look she shot back, "In the end, it was the captain who chose me, and it's none of your concern why he thought my expertise would be of use to the team."

Since he was her superior, it really was his business, but he didn't mention that, instead saying something immature, "He must have been mistaken because this clan member's hair was marked as brown."

She justified, "Auburn wasn't a choice on the application."

He cut her off. "That isn't auburn. It's burgundy."

"Fushimi," Awashima interrupted their petty debate with an icy voice, "do you have any valid complaints against Hotaru?"

Neither affirming nor denying, Fushimi just made a disappointed sound, "Teh." Her hair really bothered him. Someone whose hair shimmered in the sun like a glass of wine with the same deep, bold red was more suited for a different clan. What exactly was she doing in the Blue Clan with red hair like that?"

At Awashima's cuing, however, they moved on to the final candidate: Yoshida, Division 4. Having been put into a rather bad mood, Fushimi felt inclined to demonstrate that he would be equally picky with everyone there. Everything in his file was over exaggerated. It was pretty clear that this guy had at least four sisters—three older, one younger—and because of them he had struggled to establish his manhood.

Choosing which detail to complain about, Fushimi approached the man until personal space seemed threatened by extinction. "181 cm, huh?" His voice was just off enough to intimidate in an unusual way.

"Yes Sir." The reply was confident.

"My height is 179 cm, and I am obviously taller than you."

Again Awashima interfered. "Fushimi, this is an emergency situation. Keep your detailed analysis for another time."

He complied begrudgingly but continued to criticize in his mind. His conclusion drawn on Yoshida was: _over exaggerated liar._ It gave him just the smallest bit of pleasure to think Yoshida was probably trying to compensate for something.

Awashima explained them then their mission. It was a highly dangerous, Beta level strain. She emphasized the fact that it was only "a" strain; whereas, its perception altering abilities gave the opposite impression. As the Substitute Special Duty Corps, they would be at the forefront of capturing the fugitive.

While the lieutenant was officially in charge of leading the Special Duty Corps, she was also the superior that the heads of other divisions all turned to for coordination, protocol, and improvised changes of plan. That meant Fushimi would be the direct supervisor of this miss-matched group of incompetents. He did not seem particularly pleased.

Since there wasn't really anyone in the group that could be considered talkative or sociable, the ride in the back of the truck was more or less silent all the way to the scene. Fushimi, however, found himself in the passenger seat beside Bunya who—as an old man—tried to act like a fatherly figure by starting up conversations while he drove. The only one within earshot, Fushimi thought all of Scepter 4 really must be dead set on making his life miserable. Bunya stopped talking after seeing Fushimi's response to his first few questions. Without a word he would barely lift his head from where it rested on his palm, shift his bored-beyond-belief expression from the window to somewhere in the old man's general direction, and narrow his eyes as if to say, "the mere thought of communicating with you gives me a headache."

When they arrived at the strain's last known location, the lieutenant debriefed them once more with an update on any new information they had learned. Awashima had before her a fully electronic, holographic map of the neighborhood. With a flick of her wrist, she transfered that schema to the respective devices of the entire team so that they could easily follow her instructions.

Gesturing a circle around an intersection brought a white line onto the projected screen as Awashima explained, "Our target was last spotted in this area. He has been verified as a registered strain with beta level powers. Though he has been inactive and law abiding for quite some time, the distress call indicated he is currently posing a threat. Be sure to proceed with caution, keeping in mind that this is a dangerous strain whose powers are deceptive."

Satisfied with her warning, the lieutenant continued on into strategy, "The sword divisions will be in charge of maintaining the perimeter. Divisions 4-6 will focus solely on preventing civilians from approaching the scene. Fushimi, would you brief your team on your plan of attack?"

Having heard his name, the third-in-command switched his gaze away from the street where their tent was set up and toward the tablet in his hands. He drew in red on the screen with his finger so the whole force could see what he described.

"There are three main entrances to the area where the target was last seen. The Metropolitan Police Department say for sure he has not retreated outside this radius. Split into three groups of two—A from the north, B from the east, C from the south—and move in along the main routes in a three-part pincer pattern. One member of each party will clear the byways while the other guards the road, tightening the perimeter of the other Swordsman Divisions as you funnel him toward the dead end on the west."

It was a simple plan but a logical one. When no questions or objections were made, the whole clan was dismissed to enact it. As they dispersed to fulfill their various roles, Fushimi meandered across the street to where he had been looking previously and stared up at the roof of the adjacent building. Frowning thoughtfully, he headed for the danger zone.

One of the substitutes for the MIA Special Duty Corps interrupted him from behind, "Fushimi-senpai!"

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as if to prevent a snappy response, and then Fushimi faced his subordinate. He dialed his memory through the faces and names he had just barely learned that morning and recalled this person was the needy boy with OCD—Genda. It was easy to anticipate what sort of question to expect.

"You didn't assign us our partners or say which group would go where."

Fushimi deadpanned. _Were they a bunch of elementary students?_ He really couldn't help but feel like he was completely surrounded by morons.

"If it mattered, I would have." Dull and sharp, that was all the more time he was willing to spare.

Genda, though, wouldn't let him leave that easily, following after to ask, "Where are you going?"

The answer was menacing more than forceful. "That's _not_ your business. If you need anything, I'll have my radio. Now get with your team."

The Substitute Special Duty Corps had every bit of information needed to proceed successfully but no stabilizing force to make sense of it all. They stayed in the operational base after all the other divisions had moved out murmuring to one another. Without precise directions many of them were completely frozen in place. Impatiently, they waited for Genda to bring their leader back, but he returned empty handed.

A collective moan preceded their whispers growing louder.

Among them, Hotaru and Bunya attempted to improvise a solution, and Yoshida proclaimed encouragingly, "We don't need that gloomy teenager to capture the strain. I'll take him down myself!"

Akawa snorted in derision. "Yeah right. You probably couldn't—"

Before he could finish the thought, Yoshida launched at him combatively, and Hotaru had to wedge herself between them. "Now, now. Let's not fight amongst ourselves."

For the sake of time that was quickly fleeting, Bunya suggested like he himself was disappointed with the suggestion, "Why don't we just split up alphabetically?"

Everyone accepted the old man's offer willingly. They had only been seeking direction, and his was as good as any. According to that structure, Akawa would be with Bunya, and Yoshida would accompany Hotaru. (That was coincidentally a fitting arrangement since he was familiar with handling and protecting his sisters; whereas, Akawa may have scoffed to work alongside a female other than the lieutenant.)

Genda raised a concerned hand and asked, "Then who do I go with?"

With a frown, Yoshida muttered, "There were six of us, weren't there?"

Once again, a confused murmur spread through them until Bunya finally gave up and looked it up in the file Awashima had left with them. "Doi," he read, taking a good look at the person in the picture and then scanning the tent for that same person. "Where is Doi?"

An unassuming and dull voice replied, "I've been here all along."

Since the sound had come literally from right beside Genda, the jittery boy screamed and jumped away several feet. Doi maintained a flat expression while leveling his eyes at his startled partner in a way that may have been vaguely disapproving.

Deeming the matter settled then, Bunya informed, "We're Team A. Genda, you and Doi are B. Yoshida and Hotaru are C. Now let's move out." _It was about time,_ he thought to himself but elected not to make such a complaint aloud.

As they started to follow their instructions, Genda protested nervously, "Wait, where was Team B going again?"

"East." Doi's answer was eerily short and again too close for comfort.

"Can you stop using that creepy voice? I've got the chills..."

And while they still couldn't get along, they weren't arranged optimally, and they had accomplished nothing with efficiency, the Substitute Special Duty Corps headed to take on their first assignment together without their leader.

Fushimi, for his part, was on the roof. Throughout that whole on-site meeting he had the feeling that they were being watched. Since it would still be quite some time before his assistance would be needed in the outworking of the plan, he went to check out his suspicions.

There was definitely evidence that someone had recently been on that roof. A bit of gray cloth blew in the wind, having been tied to a short lightning rod, a compact mirror like one a lady kept in her makeup kit lay open beside the flag, and an electric junction box had been graffitied. He touched the paint at the edge of the tag. It was still wet. Snapping a quick photo of the design with his phone, Fushimi collected the items he had discovered and looked around the vicinity. Whoever had been there was long gone now.

It may not have even been important to the current case. With that thought in mind, he chose to keep this information for future investigation and made his way nonchalantly to where he knew the strain would be next.

The pincer movement worked exactly as planned. Each time a segment of a street or an alley was cleared, the swordsman divisions would squeeze in further like a vice. Determining which person on each team would accomplish which task had been simple enough. Bunya stood back, observing like a supervisor while Akawa worked like a soldier. Yoshida kept a protective eye on Hotaru at all times so that nothing could dare cause her harm. Genda examined every corner of every side street, under barrels and behind corners with scrutinizing attentiveness. Each time that he came back to the main route to report it clear, he could not find Doi, but that boy always waited unnoticeably in a location that allowed him to discretely see all. Then, he would slide off a ledge or creep around a pillar to rejoin his partner, inevitably scaring him with a bland comment.

In this fashion they moved forward, gradually constricting what space remained in which the strain could hide. It was going exactly as planned, and they anticipated they would soon have him cornered in the dead end to the west. Upon arriving at the designated intersection, however, all that the three groups saw was each other. Team A looked upon Team C, and Team B looked at an empty alley.

For a while, the six clansmen stared at one another in bewilderment. The strain was not there. Each of them was certain to have not overlooked anything and, therefore, could not even fathom this turn of events. No one moved forward, and all was silent except a door that swung off-kilter in the wind on rusty hinges.

At last, Bunya got on the radio to contact their direct superior, "Commander Fushimi, we've reached the end and the target is not here."

While he did that, Genda had the courage to step into the alley they were supposed to have trapped the strain in and poked around for hiding spaces. The others also began to wander as well, hoping to find clues. Despite there being plenty of places large enough to conceal an entire human, no one was found within.

Apparently, Fushimi was not responding, as Bunya tried a second time. "Commander Fushimi, do you copy?" Maybe he had been hurt, or maybe he had just been lying when he said he would remain in radio contact with them.

"Where are you going?" Doi asked this question with no intonation from where he sat on a wooden crate beside the rusty door. It was spoken in a way that only Hotaru could hear, which made sense, as she had been—without noticing him observing her—secretly trying to sneak through that door.

Somewhat startled, she looked up from her tablet and answered in a whispered, "I think I know where they are."

"They?" Doi easily picked up on the most intriguing part of her statement.

Hotaru explained with the map on her device. "Fushimi _told_ us he'd be trapped here, but this building is obviously an apartment with a central hallway. The strain could run straight through it to the parking lot on the other side of this wall that Fushimi _told_ us was a dead end."

"Eh?" The boy's voice, for once, raised only slightly as if to indicate a subtle emotion. "I know Senpai was distracted the whole meeting, but how could he miss something this obvious?"

"He didn't," Hotaru countered while hushing him. "He used us, like a decoy. With the whole team focused on this one location, the target would feel confident escaping through the apartment. In short, knowing this Fushimi used us to drive the strain right into his trap."

Pausing briefly for a small frown to crease Doi's brow, Hotaru didn't wait long enough for him to completely process and want to join her. "Watch my back," she concluded with an order and ran through the door before he could refuse.

* * *

"Commander Fushimi..." played loudly through the parking lot, and the officer they were trying to contact didn't pay a bit of heed to any words past that. Allowing a sinister grin to cross his face, he simply shut off the power to the device. He had no more need for the reports of underlings. The person they sought was already before him.

The strain was rather short, at least when compared to Fushimi's above average height. Even so, his clothes didn't fit properly on the small side. His figure, also, was effeminate in spite of being a boy. Blue hair the color of the sky—almost seeming even to disappear into the atmosphere—was long, matted and choppy.

Fushimi got the impression that he lived on the streets, or at least liked the style trend derived from such a lifestyle. That deduction was a simple side effect of the analysis performed to hopefully determine the strain's ability and threat potential.

The boy shimmered slightly, turned his head to the side, and returned Fushimi's smirk. Without a word, a challenge had been issued and accepted. A plane flew far overhead, acting as some sort of countdown to their duel.

When it's shadow covered them, the blue clansman tugged at the hilt of his sword, uttering the required password to unlock it, "Fushimi, batou," and at that very instant, the strain vanished.


	2. Fata Morgana

_**Wow, this story already took off with flying colors! We would like to thank everyone so very much for welcoming us back with open arms. (Although, isn't it a bit strange that WFT got six times the number of views of AGW this week? Not like we're complaining or anything. WFT was a great story; nothing wrong with more people loving it.)**_

 _ **Special thanks to MidnightRain101 who has become our newest regular! Every time you review, the things you say make us sooooooo happy!**_

 _ **Yes, mst88, Hotaru is yours. And that was an amazing compliment to our writing!**_

 _ **Mrs.1DJessup** **, your excitement is contagious. Thank you for following us here from WFT.**_

 _ **Also thanks to GoRA for creating our poor, grumpy child Fushimi. On with it then!**_

* * *

Accustomed to dealing with the seemingly unbelievable abilities of the enabled persons they encountered on a regular basis, Fushimi was far from caught off guard by the disappearing act. Nor did he truly believe the strain was gone. Instant transportation and warping of the space continuum were still rather unlikely compared to being invisible as far as superpowers were concerned. The strain was undoubtedly still there but using some method of altering perceptions to remain hidden.

This being Fushimi's determination, he glanced carefully around for any tell tale signs of the target's location. He missed not a single detail, examining closely even rear-view mirrors of the cars parked there. Even someone invisible could not move around without causing an effect on the environment—the crinkle of trash, a slight fluctuation of a shadow, a breeze of motion, etc. Fushimi searched high and low to find this indication, but it was when he turned his eyes upward that the situation changed again.

The boy reappeared exactly where he was before, which baffled the agent of justice. _Why hadn't it tried to escape during that time?_ He worked through the thought in his mind and concluded, _unless it couldn't._ Determining why would have to be the next step. He wasn't going to miss his chance to catch the culprit because of wasting time, though. Leaving reflection for a later time, he took a few quick steps and lunged in with a saber engulfed in blue aura.

Flickering just slightly, the strain was instantly a hand's breadth father away than Fushimi had anticipated. That was a simple trick to overcome, and with a flick of his wrist, the swordsman sliced at a new angle. This one passed straight through the slender boy, but he only cocked his head further to the left. Then, sputtering like a projection, the sky haired boy dissolved. Fushimi felt a stabbing pain shoot through his eyes, causing them to squint closed tightly. When he opened them again, there were fourteen scraggly boys with sky blue hair shimmering in a circle around him.

The clansman took a step back to reassess the situation. As it turned out, the powers at play here were not something quite so simple as "Invisibility" or "Vanishing." Nor did it appear to be a mere illusion of duplicating oneself. After all, fourteen boys had appeared, each with a slightly different position, as if they were actually separate people. He recalled to mind, then, what Awashima had stated earlier, warning them that there was only "a" strain. Now he understood how a single opponent could certainly seem to be many.

Furthermore, every one of them had taken aim at him with some advanced technological form of a sling shot. The weapon itself was hardly intimidating, but the projectile appeared to be particularly sharp compared to the typical pebble. It was probably laced with a toxin also. Each unique version of the strain prepared to shoot from a different angle. Some were high, others low, far to the side, or dead center. Dodging one path would lead him right into another so that there was no way to avoid all the shots. That meant he had to determine which was the real culprit.

A young voice laughed, and it seemed to come from all directions. "You think you trapped me here, but joke's on you; I do best one-on-one."

Fushimi tried his best to track the bouncing voice down to an original source with no success while grumbling to himself, "Some one-on-one this is."

On the other hand, maybe it didn't matter which one was real. He had five throwing knives with him. Quickly he tried to calculate how far one slash with his sword could reach. Could he take all fourteen of them in two motions? He could make two moves before the kid shot. That was most likely his best option.

Three knives lodged into the ones on his right, since that was the most he could throw at one time. Simultaneously, a wide arc of blue sliced through four. While doing that, he whipped the remaining two blades from his sleeve and proceeded clockwise. Another swing of the saber accompanied those two, completing the second attack. Thirteen had been reached by the powerful aura of Scepter 4, and each of them had dissipated. Concluding that by pure, dumb luck the final, ratty haired boy had been the real one, he extended a hand to restrain him.

That boy did not look frightened or as if his plan had been undone so easily by a single hand. In fact, he didn't falter in the slightest. The fingers that had pulled the sling shot taut released, directed straight toward Fushimi's face. A split second later, he felt something small and hard bury itself in the side of his chest.

Wincing, he staggered forward and slashed out at the remaining boy. That body also dissolved into the air, leaving Fushimi alone with no real strain, but having clearly been hit by one. He reached under his right arm and yanked the protrusion out with a slight grimace. Thankfully, the sharp object had only pierced his muscle instead of his lung. As he threw it to the ground, he turned in the direction from which it had come, sword in hand. Again, no one was there. There was, however, the strain directly opposite it.

Something about all the different angles reminded him of the mirror he had acquired examining that rooftop earlier. Was he dealing with reflections? Or was the target somehow distorting space like that stray, Black Dog? Guessing he could easily prove or rule out the former, the Scepter 4 officer lunged toward the blank space which might logically be the source of a reflection.

Just as steel was about to contact either nothing or a transparent substance, the area for which he was aiming took shape. A feminine figure clad in blue appeared in horizontal wisps. Immediately knowing that was the uniform of a Scepter 4 agent, Fushimi diverted his blade. He clicked his tongue. What was that burgundy haired girl from the Intelligence Division doing, standing in his way with a periodic flicker? She had almost gotten killed. Even now, he couldn't tell her actual location, or how the strain had captured her image.

Waving a hand through the dematerialized body, he at least verified that wasn't a real blue clansman. The amount of time wasted on that, however, allowed the strain incredible range of motion. He tried to cautiously slip away while shooting another projectile from his sling. Fushimi heard the whiz of displaced air, and dodged out of its way nearly in time. He could not escape receiving a shallow scratch on the cheek.

At that moment, Fushimi felt a hand against his back. He whirled around, sword at the ready, to face the new threat. Framed eyes that were prepared to kill met with a high-tech pair of plastic, safety glasses. Her blue uniform and red hair were the same he had seen only the moment before, causing him to pull back barely in time.

"Fata Morgana," the girl spoke while he was still adjusting.

Dumbfounded by the abruptness of it all, Fushimi only replied, "Hah?"

"He's a complex form of superior mirage."

"I know what you said," he snapped back. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You need my help," she stated with a level of assurance that didn't match her small stature or weak arms.

His mind centered in, not on the person before him, but rather on the dossier he had viewed that morning, straight to the field, "Sword Training: N/A." How on Earth could she possibly help _him?_ Clicking his tongue as if irritated by her statement, he walked toward the exit of the parking lot, leaving her to fumble with her safety glasses. That distraction had cost them precious time, and the strain was likely to have come close to his escape by then. Fushimi had yet to uncover his location even a single time, and that girl thinking she could do better pricked at the back of his mind like an insect bite that itched ceaselessly.

Scooping up a few of his worthlessly thrown daggers on the way, he focused his eyes on the car nearest to the exit. That blue-haired gremlin was most likely to be hiding there. Hearing the whoosh of another projectile being shot, Fushimi swung his sword in a 270° arc to form a fire-like border of blue around him which rose into the air like a shield. He could have sworn he thought he saw it coming from his peripheral vision to the right, but he had learned his lesson that it may not come from where it appeared.

Spotting the pointy object as it deflected off his aura, he immediately aimed to return his own attack to where he presumed it had come from. Just as he was releasing one of his throwing knives filled with blue flames, someone crashed into him from the side, causing the trajectory of his weapon to divert into an unknown civilian's vehicle. As it exploded, raising a plume of smoke into the air, Fushimi turned with an angry glare.

"Oi, watch it," he ordered grumpily.

Below him the lab tech stared down at her tablet, performing calculations with the backside of a Sentai member's styled pen while she walked instead of looking at what came next. After mumbling to herself the final steps of her high-level, physics equation, Hotaru looked around at the environment to perceive what had happened while she was in her own world.

Rather than give any sort of apology or excuse, she simply pointed out, "You never would have hit the strain with that aim."

Frustrated by her interference and arrogant attitude, Fushimi clenched his hands around the hilt of his sword and knives and growled, "Is that so?"

Without any doubt, she replied uninhibitedly, "Yeah. According to the calculations, he is on that roof." She indicated the building behind the rising flames.

There in the wavering light waves, distorted by patches of overheated air, flickered glimpses of an image. Like looking at one's reflection in a clear pond, an underfed boy rippled in the air, scraggly blue hair blown upward by streams of unnatural warmth. Clearly, the vision only appeared because of the car fire, but the strain revealed no trace of waning confidence. This caused Fushimi to doubt his coworker's deduction.

"That's just another of his illusions."

Right away Hotaru corrected him, "Mirage, not illusion. A mirage specifically refers to the changes experienced by light waves whenever there is a variation of atmospheric temperature. An illusion is anything that fools the imagination. He is not toying with your mind. A mirage is a physical phenomenon not-"

"You can end the lecture now, Physics," Fushimi interrupted, not at all interested in being reinformed on a subject he likely understood better than her.

The strain had quickly concealed what they had seen in the flames moments before. That could mean he was fleeing to hide his own presence, or simply another intangible image. As the third-in-command of the government organization in charge of handling this type of event, Fushimi felt unusually ill-equipped to tell the difference. The same could not be said of the female officer.

Worked up by his passively rude insult, she snapped another intellectual explanation, "If you'd just listen, we could work together on this. Now, based on current atmospheric conditions and where the previous Fata Morgana were located, my math puts him at an elevated position-"

Again her superior didn't feel like listening. "Cut to the chase."

"It's Math. Math doesn't lie. He's up there."

Just because he didn't like her, he replied, "Maybe you did it wrong." Even so, he started preparing as if to make an attack on the roof.

Despite his deliberately demeaning statement, Hotaru did not step down. As he pulled out a larger knife from inside his uniform that he did not often use, she tried a different approach. She removed her safety goggles and held them out in front of him.

"I can see him. There's a setting in the glasses that compensates for the distortion of the light waves."

In response to the sudden invasion of his personal space for the third time, Fushimi shoved her away from himself and didn't make eye contact. Still, he eventually questioned, "You're sure he's there?"

"Like 97% sure."

Upon receiving confirmation, Fushimi released the blade that had been held up in his hand. It soared straight to an exterior electrical panel near the upper corner. Sparks flew as the circuit overloaded, taking out the power for the whole building. More importantly, the aura he had contained within the knife burst forth, spreading the blue power through the wires into the walls. Every few seconds the aura lit a small explosion in series until the whole top floor of the apartments collapsed.

Losing composure as the roof started to crack and crumble beneath him, the strain could no longer maintain the mirage that kept him hidden. He concluded the only chance he had left was to jump and try to outrun the Scepter 4 agents. However, Fushimi had already predicted the path he was most likely to follow and rushed to cut off the young teenager. Caught up in the excitement, Hotaru hurried to join them.

The blue haired strain scrambled to the open gate of the parking lot where he hid behind the longer legs of a young man who had just entered the vicinity. Both clansmen were startled initially, having been specifically instructed that there would be only one target. That would hardly cause them further trouble, though. Now that they were aware of the first one's powers, two would be just as simple to capture.

The saber, like an extension to his own arm, lithely swiped to the side as if warming up for the coming attack. He began to inform the two of their arrest while walking toward them, never noticing a sudden hesitation in his coworker.

"Holy grounds," she mumbled, unnoticed.

Quietly the newcomer urged the little urchin, "Get out of here, Kid Tut." The teen compliantly took to flight, but was soon halted by a small knife, glowing blue, which pinned the hem of his jacket to a wooden fence post. Simultaneously, Fushimi was prevented from advancing when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Once again, he spun toward the female lab tech with a glare as if to demand, _Don't touch me._

Before he could complain a word, Hotaru repeated, "Your holy grounds."

Fushimi was well aware of the meaning of such terms. Once, members of the Special Forces had gotten carried away in their memories of their former comrade. That person had thrown himself in front of an attack meant for the king and had died because of it. What was his name again? Kusuhara. Even though the captain instructed each member about the unique reach of their own allotment of aura, it was Kusuhara who had spread the term into common vocabulary of the clan.

"Why?" She was apparently asking him to raise a shield, but against what? To switch to a defensive stance at that crucial moment would be pointless.

"Now!" She persisted.

Even though he had no obligation to take orders from her, he got the impression she was not about to allow him to act otherwise. Her gaze was firm and stubborn behind the mad scientist glasses. It would take too much time to argue. Concluding it would be easier to simply let his aura surround them in a protective shield and continue his attack from within, Fushimi gave in.

The blue began to ebb from his arms and legs, the tips of his weapons constantly by his side, the hem of his uniform, and the upturned collar of his shirt. Unlike the cool security typically associated with the order of the blue clan, this swirled around the two of them, raising from the ground in a somewhat ominous way before hardening into a structure that could only be likened to a Faraday cage. _That was unusually tiresome,_ Fushimi barely admitted to himself about the effort it took to form something that was typically second-nature.

He turned back to their opponents in time to see the mirage successfully free himself from where he had been trapped. Still determined to complete their mission, he grit his teeth and imagined how he'd catch the strain again. Color shimmered through the blue shield. Pink and yellow traveled glowingly across the grid-like veins. It was abnormal, and the impression he got was that something invisible yet heavy pushed against him. Somehow his "holy grounds" were under attack, and he pushed back, straining to keep the shield in tact.

Whatever assaulted them came in waves, glistening rhythmically over the top and around the edges. "What the—?" Fushimi questioned, the edges of his words muffled by an unclear voice. The kid was gone, and his savior stood, without action, emotionless save for the subtle intensity in his eyes.

Hotaru answered descriptively, "Ionizing radiation. When I changed the setting on the safety glasses, I can clearly see an elevated neutron count and extremely high frequency wavelengths smaller than 0.03 nanometers. That's in the range associated with nuclear fission gamma rays. The readings indicate levels above the median lethal range of 450 roentgens, radiating from an epicenter near the location of the targeted strain's accomplice."

Under his breath, Fushimi muttered something inappropriate, since by the time her explanation was complete that person had already made his escape, bidding them a vulgar farewell with the gesture of only a single finger. Because of the lab tech's unwarranted interference, their mission had failed.

Even without the presence of any other being, Fushimi's holy grounds continued to pulsate, perhaps at a slowly diminishing rate. "Well, guess we have no choice but to wait out the half-life," the girl conceded yieldingly. She let out a sigh of disappointment and sank down to sit on the asphalt parking lot. Her legs were crossed in a way that showed brazen disregard for the indecency of her skirt, but she seemed far more annoyed than anything else, murmuring through calculations she performed on her tablet regarding their exposure levels and how long they might have to wait.

For his part, the disgruntled young man looked away with a click of his tongue. _What a bothersome coworker..._ Shoving his free hand into a pocket, he made a call over the radio to Awashima. It would be at least 30 minutes before they could deploy the hazmat team.

* * *

 ** _Ah, sorry it was kind of a shorter chapter...but there really wasn't a better stopping point than that! Anyhow, a couple more chapters are already nearly finished, so look forward to hearing from us next week on Thursday-as scheduled. Always good to see we have friends._**


	3. めがねか

_**Hello again, everyone. We're right on time. (Hoping that MidnightRain101 will get overly excited to receive the email again). Also, welcome back AshTheRandomOtaku!**_

 _ **Today's title**_ ** _めがねか (megane ka) would be translated as "Glasses?" which you'll see plays a slightly important role in the beginning of the chapter, but mostly it's just fun to make use of something that both GoRA and the fandom use so frequently._**

 ** _Anyhow, enjoy the reading! (Still waiting to hear from you what level of role Emi should play in the story)_**

* * *

The office of the fourth and Blue King - Munakata, Reisi - was nothing at all like that of Suoh, Mikoto. Having made his _headquarters_ in a dank, smoky bar, the former Red King handled much of his "official business" in a dark, second-floor bedroom where he lived. Worn furniture had been scorched, both intentionally and not; arrangement was sloppy and crowded; all else was minimal. For more than two years, Fushimi had grown accustomed to approaching _his king_ in that sort of setting.

He had been part of Scepter 4 even longer than that, and he still considered Munakata's office as comparatively ostentatious. Naturally lit by a series of double-paned windows lining the walls nearly floor to ceiling, the room was more aptly considered a hall than anything else. Along the left, a third of the space had been sectored off. Marked traditionally by its tetami mats and bamboo framing, this area was mostly used for tea breaks, bonding rituals, and occasional brainstorming.

More often than not, the king himself was seated at a desk toward the rear of the office. Majestically heavy, the solid wood bureau was likely worth as much as Kusanagi's cherished, imported bar top and almost as large. This was unembellished by the addition of that which was common to the workplace: artificial plants, industrial, high-traffic carpet, and an oddly placed motivational poster he had recently hung about the benefits of teamwork.

Unlike the smothering atmosphere of the red clan's headquarters, the Fourth Annex generally had the chilly, intellectual air of a prep school or courthouse. It was, however, even more crisp in Munakata's room, more like a head of lettuce fresh from the refrigerator about to be guillotined. This was, of course, due to the undying intensity of the man they most often referred to as "Captain." The term was perhaps fitting for the overt dealings of the Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau, Family Register Section, Fourth Annex, which gave the impression of paper pushing civil agents who were led by floor managers. Their actual daily responsibilities varied greatly from what was publicly stated.

For example, the third-in-command, leader of the Special Duty Corps Fushimi, Saruhiko along with the chief researcher of the Science and Technology Department in the Intelligence Division Hotaru, Akihime had been called to this over-budgeted office to report matters concerning radiation exposure while on duty. Whereas their captain was clothed regally in a uniform of royal blues and purples, with well pressed lapels and golden toggles, the two subordinates were severely underdressed. After the tedious process of undergoing decontamination in Scepter 4's very own airlock showers, the two had all of their belongings confiscated for sterilization. Then, they each underwent extensive examinations, quarantined in the infirmary, until it could be said without a sliver of doubt that they were unharmed by any sort of electromagnetic effects.

At last, clad in whatever clothes had been found for them, they were immediately called to see Munakata - Fushimi in the dogi issued to all members who participated in weekly kendo practice in the dojo, Hotaru in fleece pajama pants decorated with Einstein's head and E=MC² as well as a greyish-blue, long-sleeved T-shirt with horizontal stripes. Together they were a shameful sight before the director of one of the nation's key government offices. This proved to be yet another source of Fushimi's ever growing annoyance.

Captain Munakata, Reisi himself looked upon them with a disapproving frown. His frameless glasses, thick with corrective prescription, hung idly by their arm in hands that had painstakingly been cleaning them according to the daily procedure required to maintain them in optimal condition. Because of the intensity of failing vision, those eyes which were usually gleaming with keen insight gazed upon them in foggy confusion for the briefest of moments. The question came to mind of whether he could even recognize his own subordinates in this condition.

Before either could truly feel doubt concerning their king, his expression cleared, and he greeted as normal, "Ah Fushimi-kun, Hotaru-kun, you have arrived sooner than is to be expected of a full decontamination. I must, therefore, remember to congratulate the hazardous materials emergency response team on their efficient work. Now then, would either of you care to enlighten me concerning how you two got into such a situation?" Munakata slipped his glasses back into place and rested his elbows on the desk, fingers laced in anticipation.

The girl looked expectantly up at her companion with a facetious glare. Irritated, he clicked his tongue at her and turned away from her muttering in direct reference to her meddlesome nature, "What a bother..."

"Why don't you report, _Team Leader?_ " Hotaru emphasized the title in a condemnatory tone that resented his treatment of the Substitute Special Duty Corps.

"I had the strain cornered until _you_ interfered with your gizmos and crap," Fushimi replied haughtily with purposeful and punctuated rude language. "Apologize professionally."

"Apologize?" She repeated his words with a scoff. " _You_ manipulated the entire team like we were objects to be used in your schemes. Some good that was, since you would never have known the location of the strain if I hadn't shown you the angle of reflection due to the thermal distortion of light waves. Fata Morgana is-"

With a curt tongue, the boy in traditional, Japanese fighting garb interrupted, "Enough with the science lecture already, Brainiac."

"You're one to talk, Smart Aleck," the girl in pajamas retorted.

Her come back, in all of its fluffy innocence, startled Fushimi nonetheless. He wasn't quite sure where she had gotten that impression of him, or why she would suddenly accuse him of something that wasn't necessarily worthy of ridicule. That was all easy enough to write off as another bizarre quirk of a nuisance he hoped he never had to work with again.

Taking the moment of silence, Munakata cut in, "Ahem. I do believe I see the situation clearly now." Both clansmen were visibly relieved that this experience might come to an end until Munakata stood and made his way over to them. "Have you lately been having trouble seeing properly, Hotaru-kun?"

So stunned was she by such a suggestion that she couldn't form more than an unintelligible, "Hah?" Hadn't she made it perfectly clear that _her_ insight was the only reason they had survived? How could he dare imply the opposite?

Still, he continued. Standing inside the standard, one meter bubble of personal space, he raised a hand and inquired, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Don't insult me, Captain. There is nothing wrong with my vision."

"No need to feel embarrassed; this is a common issue amongst our team. Please answer honestly."

In spite of her bewilderment, the loyal scientist reluctantly gave the correct answer, "Four."

Straightening up to reinstate the difference in their heights, Munakata pondered aloud, "How strange... Awashima-kun recently suggested I be more astute in recognizing changes in my clansmen. Having quickly observed you are without your glasses - as well as verifying you are not substituting any other form of corrective vision such as contact lenses - it is only logical to assume your sight would suffer from lack thereof in a similar way to Fushimi-kun's and mine."

"Don't force me into your nonsense. There's work to do," the offhandedly-mentioned young man insisted firmly to not get involved. Even so, a memory simultaneously entered his mind that Hotaru's profile officially stated she had no visual concerns. Was the captain actually thinking of her safety goggles instead? He snorted at the idea that the man with a universally grander view of the world still saw that spoiled redhead as nothing but a lab rat.

The girl before her king in pajamas tried her best to stand proud - although, a wronged look was beginning to develop behind the determination in her eyes - while affirming, "I do not wear glasses, Captain."

Munakata seemed like he might continue digging further into the subject. However, considering both of his subordinates' reactions, he cleared his throat once more and moved on.

"What do you suspect was the source of this radiation?"

Even though this question was directed to Fushimi, it was Hotaru who imposed her opinion on the discussion, blurting out certainly, "The second man."

For his part, the young male simply behaved as if she wasn't in the room at all and reported, "Unknown." Jumping to any conclusions could prove to be dangerous.

"Oh? Is that so?" Their captain inquired, commenting on their opposing ideas.

While Hotaru fumed over her senior's blatant disregard to her existence, Fushimi explained clearly, "The radiation did appear to come from the direction of the teen as a tool employed to allow himself and the strain to escape. It is unknown what sort of device was used, as he himself had no form of protective gear. Both were gone before any more precise measurements could be taken; though, the effects seemed far more like the fallout of a nuclear bomb than those of a simple radioactive substance."

The clear, and concise explanation of the full extent of their knowledge concerning what had happened in the parking lot surprised the girl. Based on what others said of Fushimi, and what she herself had witnessed up to that point, painted him as a conceited grump who thought himself smarter than anyone else. None of that had changed in her opinion, but she never would have imagined he would analytically see more dimension on a question than she had.

Apparently, this was quite normal in the eyes of their leader, who simply continued as if such depth of vision was expected to come naturally to all of his subordinates, "Did you see enough of this 'second man' to provide an accurate description of him for a composite sketch?"

"Yes." Fushimi replied curtly - no more, no less - but also without a moment's hesitation.

"Very well. Report to the Intelligence Division to have the sketch made. Subsequently run it through the Yuishiki System for facial recognition so these details may be included in the write-up, which I expect to receive in a timely manner. A powerful strain enabled with Fata Morgana cannot be left to roam the streets."

The one directly addressed affirmed in a way both respectful and begrudging. He turned to obey the order, action which did not prevent Munakata from adding, "Ah, also Fushimi-kun, tomorrow Awashima-kun and I along with other high-ranking members of all divisions will be presenting a seminar for the Metro Police Department First Responders to ensure they properly handle future cases involving enabled persons in the interim before our arrival on scene. I took the liberty of presuming you would rather not participate and elected to leave you here in charge of the annex with Zenjou-san. This event has been scheduled on the clan calender for several weeks, but also presumably you have not bothered to look at it, have you? Do try your best to keep all in a peaceable manner."

The young man's shoulders slumped visibly as he flung open the door, muttering once again an insincere, "Yes."

"Good luck, Fushimi-kun," became the last words of their discussion, encouragement ringing empty through the room.

Hotaru, having observed the interactions of the two young men in amazement, stared at the blank space where her teammate had stood long after he vacated the place. This was her first experience involved in a true debriefing at the annex, and she just could not get over the ease with which Fushimi defied their mutual king. It was all very overwhelming.

Munakata himself misinterpreted the cause of her daze, inquiring once more, "Are you absolutely certain your vision is satisfactory?"

Such a question posed in earnest belief did draw the lady scientist's attention, and she looked over to see the captain seated again at his desk, index finger pressed lightly on the bridge of his glasses as if indicating the source of her distraction. After a couple seconds of confusion, she snapped to with a salute.

"Ah no, it's fine Sir."

"Because you were dismissed."

In a rush Hotaru scrambled to give a proper farewell, bowing with a muddled apology as she awkwardly let herself out the door.

* * *

Filling the role of Annex Director for a single day was a responsibility simple enough for Fushimi. Generally speaking, the members of Scepter 4 were competent each on their own, and it wasn't as if he was required to breathe down everyone's necks to make sure daily tasks were accomplished. Those who reported for work that day knew better than to waste time messing around with Fushimi in command. Anybody who felt like slacking off had the presence of mind to do so out of his line of sight. So long as their work for the day was finished, and the ones doing it kept their small talk to a reasonably low roar, their stand-in director stayed in the back of the office, quietly doing his own business.

Fushimi knew the only reason Zenjou's name had been mentioned in his instructions was in case of emergency. That man had recently become somewhat of an unofficial manager of the General Affairs Division. This was not because he was in charge of anything important or even other members of the team, but rather - in spite of his unapproachable demeanor - people had grown to see him as the go-to person for questions extending far past his actual responsibilities in the file room, lately even into the dealings of the Intelligence and Swordsman Divisions.

If there were to be any sort of event or case that came up, Fushimi would have to deal directly with Zenjou. However, cases weren't all as common as people made them out to be. Since they had so recently encountered the "Mirage Strain Case," as the clan had quickly assigned the alias to the file, most likely their entire job for the day would only revolve around tracking him down, damage control, and calls to insurance companies.

Around midday, Fushimi received an email from Hidaka, Akira with "Lunch Break Check-In" for a subject line. The contents were banal, well wishes for matters back at headquarters and the reassurance that all was well at their seminar. Attached was a video entitled, "Share with the team," which Fushimi reluctantly opened, partly due to sheer boredom and partly in the unlikely case the video contained something important.

It began, of course, with Hidaka narrating behind the camera and the aperture pointed to a clearing the size of a dance floor. "What you see is the stage where we are about to begin a demonstration of a practical situation scripted by your very own Special Duty Corps." He spoke deliberately with a soft, mysterious voice as if trying to call to mind the suspense of a wild animal documentary. "By the way, a shout out to Fuse-san and Gotou-san who got left behind today for guard duty but played a huge role in keeping our skit realistic. Ah, looks like the actors are ready."

At that time, Awashima stepped onto their "stage" thighs only concealed by her coat tails in front and back. With a dignity unexpected from someone who, knowingly or not, was being objectified by every man attending the seminar, she spoke in introduction, "You are about to witness a life-like situation in which an enabled person takes a civilian hostage. Pay close attention to the reactions of each participant. Following the demonstration will be a question and answer analysis on the performance..."

She continued speaking for a short while about the scenario etc. but Hidaka interrupted, "Playing the role of lead villain, an out-of-control strain is Domiyouji, Andy. We all know he can definitely pull off out-of-control."

The short brunette in question took the stage, flinging harmless balls of sparkling, blue aura left and right. A couple members of the First Swordsman Division and the General Affairs Department served as bystanders, and that girl from GA let out a shrill scream. There were a lot of voices that couldn't be captured by the ill-qualified, smartphone camera, but somehow Enomoto, Tatsuya was snatched from the crowd of civilians.

Hidaka continued his narration, "We all thought Enomoto would be a good actor, what with being an otaku and going to anime conventions to watch cosplay skits and all. Let's see how he does."

A timid voice, hardly audible even with the microphone, spoke mechanically from Domiyouji's tight grip, "Let me go. Help me. I'm being attacked."

"Aww, not so talented apparently." Hidaka pointed the camera back at his own, oversized face to show his exaggerated pout. "But somehow that soft face and silky hair still give the impression of a damsel in distress. Bravo, Enomoto! Keep up the good work!" He let out a whoop of encouragement for his teammates.

Even though Fushimi had hurried to reduce the volume coming from his computer speakers, others in the room still heard the noises. They may not have been able to distinguish clearly what was going on, but the ruckus was enough to make several of them wonder what their humorless supervisor could be watching while on-duty. Having received the nod of approval from another member of the Special Duty Corps - Gotou, Ren - some of them even left their stations to cautiously approach Fushimi's desk.

The demonstration continued with the arrival of the police department, then an emergency squad from Scepter 4, and eventually King Munakata himself. For sure convinced he must have lost a dozen brain cells simply observing the shenanigans, Fushimi stared blankly at the screen as if questioning why he had even opened it in the first place. Murmurs spread through those around him even as Awashima once more took the stage to make commentary.

"As it was clearly shown," she began, "we would like to emphasize this one protocol above all else: Do not engage a known, enabled person. They are more powerful than you, and..."

Hidaka must not have thought her speech important because he turned the camera back to himself to narrate the conclusion, "I bet people are crowding around your computer right now to see what you're watching (if you're even still watching this), and you probably hate it. But all day the lieutenant has been mumbling to herself that 'you're in charge today' and how 'you better be keeping them properly informed,' so if anyone should be asked to spread around our message, it should be you. Besides, a little socializing is good for you. Work hard, Fushimi. See ya!"

Those gathered around laughed heartily and spoke amongst themselves about the humorous presentation with its commentary. Some remarked on how much they'd rather have gone to the seminar than stay at the headquarters working for Fushimi. The ultimate question they all had was: why was _he_ of all people watching it?

Eventually fed up with the antics, the unsocial young man ordered, "It's over now. Back to work."

Because it was Fushimi who said so, they reluctantly dispersed. When the room had returned to a professional silence, meaning only the clicks of typing on a keyboard and an occasional whisper could be heard, he deleted the email in irritation. He really had no use for something so pointless.

Not quite enough time had passed for him to get his mind completely refocused on his current task when a clansman from the Intelligence Division interrupted him. Fushimi didn't recognize him by face or name, despite the fact that his first assignments in Scepter 4 had been in the man's very team, as well as the supervisor the day before when he had visited them to give a description of the mirage strain's rescuer. Fushimi noticed only that there were minute differences in his uniform, corresponding with those of the Intelligence Division.

When the supervisor approached Fushimi's desk and called him by name, the addressed looked up in vague acknowledgement.

The reason for the visit was explained thusly, "As for the man you helped us sketch yesterday, our facial recognition system has located him. If you switch your screen to surveillance mode, you can verify we've found the right person."

Fushimi did as requested. The scene to appear on the laptop was from a camera in the downtown tech center of Tokyo across from a several story building which served as corporate headquarters for one of Japan's largest bank chains. On the roof of the bank was where the young man stood, accompanied by two others who were slightly his elders. A strong wind blew through their hair and jackets making it seem they were definitely up to no good; although, it wasn't like they were actively breaking any laws. Standing atop a bank wasn't necessarily permitted either.

"Is that him?" The clansman from the Intelligence Division inquired.

Without affirming, Fushimi stood and presented an order. "Gotou, gather Division 4 and take the transport to Tokyo Central Bank to apprehend one of the suspects from the most recent case."

The member of the Special Duty Corps hurried away from his desk to obey the order. Still, he seemed in no way stressed from what would most likely be a routine pick-up. Once he had left the room, all returned to normal momentarily. As Fushimi was taking his time to sit down, his computer kept playing live surveillance footage of the location. Before five minutes had passed, the scene changed. All three men pulled on ski masks, and two rappelled down to the store front.

His mind raced as they entered the bank and held up its employees, yet he felt like it was crawling through quicksand. At that point they were unaware if enabled persons were among the party. They knew nothing, practically, except that the three men visibly were more heavily armed than any Japanese officer could imagine outside American cinema. Never mind the police; most of them were tied up with the Scepter 4 liaison seminar.

 _How dangerous are these men? How many troops need dispatched to take care of it?_ These questions entered his mind almost mockingly, a nagging voice that instilled doubt.

The alarm sounded then, throughout the entire headquarters. Some of the bystanders or employees on scene must have called in the emergency situation. That snapped Fushimi into action, and he looked toward the fellow clansmen Fuse, Daiki.

"We're going to need the helicopter crews."

No more direction was needed than that; Fuse headed straight for the hangers.

Fushimi walked the other way, ordering, "Everyone else with me." He had no idea how dangerous this bank robbery might be, or even the number of enabled persons involved. Until he could better assess the situation, they were way too short staffed to be selective. As the clansmen scrambled to the emergency vehicles, he called Gotou through a handheld radio. "Directives have changed. Expect an aggressive response. You have permission to draw your swords."

* * *

 _ **Dun dun dun...Look forward to next chapter, which will be dramatically more exciting and less ordinary. Azami and Yata make their appearances too!**_

 _ **"**_ ** _As bonds begin to turn, a new battle starts." -#ROK 100DXV_**


	4. Azami Awakens

_**Here we are again, Kateracks and Arait, with the promised chapter. Not much to say this time, except hooray for season 2! We'll play close attention to how things turn out.**_

 _ **Also welcome back**_ ** _XxXTwilight-SinXxX! Enjoy_**

* * *

Two brown eyes cracked open and looked out onto a blurry world. Slowly the dark edges cleared, and the swirl of colors separated into greens, whites, blues, and browns. Gradually they found their place as clouds in the sky and trees and clumps of dirt in which she was currently lying face-down. With a groan, Hayashi, Azami carefully pushed herself to her knees and then staggered to her unsteady feet, brushing off dried mud and ants.

"Where the hell am I?" she muttered, taking in the forest scene which had replaced the city she was familiar with. She had been lying at the base of a cliff, but there was no sign of how she got there and no sounds of other people. With no clues around her, she stretched to pop a couple sore places in her back and decided, "Well, Azami…let's go on an adventure…"

Knowing that there was a forest across the bay from Shizume City to the east, she deduced it would be a good idea to follow the base of the cliff going west, mostly because she felt like she had had the crap beat out of her and hadn't gotten her wind back yet. She walked for about a mile and then the cliff met the side of another, creating a "V" sort of shape which was at a better incline for climbing and by that she felt better enough to begin.

As good as she was at jumping on and scaling the side of buildings, though, rock climbing was a different level of difficulty. Skater shoes were not a good choice for keeping footing on loose stones and bare hands easily fell victim to cuts on jagged edges without gloves. However, the adrenaline due to lack of a safety harness was right up her alley and it quickly brought an energizing freshness to her brain.

Some time later (she wasn't sure how long), Azami pulled herself over the lip and crouched near the edge to catch her breath. Once her heart calmed some, she heard a dull roar in the distance, but just as quickly as she noticed it, it disappeared. She sat silently, controlled her breathing, and listened intently for the noise again. Several minutes later, the roar passed by again as if an angry creature quickly buzzed by her location, though she wasn't sure what kind of creature would also make the screeching of brakes. Not the naturally born kind, that was for sure.

 _Cars._ She stood to her feet and continued her hike up a steep incline toward where the sound came from. Where there were vehicles, there was a road of some sort nearby and that meant she would be able to pinpoint her whereabouts.

Much to her pleasure, the road was paved and had signs, but according to them she was about 60 miles from Shizume. It would take her pretty much all day to get there, even if she ran some of the way; judging by the sun, it was already mid-morning, too. With a sigh, she continued walking along the shoulder, hoping that perhaps a tourist bus would pass by. At least she had been right about needing to walk west to get back to the city so she hadn't wasted a bunch of time, and once she got out of the denser trees to where she could see the beach, she would have a point of reference.

Two hours into her journey, though, the hard asphalt under her shoes began to make it apparent that maybe she was more injured that she thought. As the adrenaline from her climb wore off and the fatigue of overused muscles started to raise its head, she realized that maybe she had bruised or cracked her ribs—burning and a random stab of pain in her side when she was breathing properly so as not to overexert her lungs proved that much. Her left wrist was swelling as the day went on and her right ankle was sore like maybe she had twisted or strained it.

She needed a ride. While she really did not feel comfortable getting into a car with a random person—let's face it, that was just plain stupid—she had learned a thing or two over the years since she joined the Green Clan. She was sure that even in her state, she could take any fool who might try to put the moves on her, but at the same time, she wasn't going to just jump in with anyone. Thus, she waved on the SUV of loud campers throwing beer cans out the window and the minivan with out of town license plates. Who knows what they were up to over this way?

The miles passed and the pain of her ankle progressed. The gray sky above her rumbled angrily; the last few days it had been treating them to sporadic downpours and it sounded to be winding up for another. She would have to either find a ride or a place to wait it out, neither of which looked too promising at the moment.

About that time, though, she caught the distant hum of an engine coming around the bend behind her. She waited until the sound neared enough so that she could see the passengers and then peeked over her shoulder. There was only one: the driver; this would have to do.

Hoping her developing limp wasn't as obvious as it felt, she stuck her thumb out while she walked along. The car didn't slow, instead keeping to the other side of the road out of her reach. As it passed, however, she felt the driver watch her go by and then, just when she thought she had been denied, it suddenly slammed on its brakes and pulled onto the shoulder several yards in front of where she was walking.

A guy in his early twenties dressed in fitted, dark jeans and fancy studded leather boots that complemented a leather vest over his tight, gray, dragon T-shirt stepped out from the driver's side. Lifting the shades that were unnecessary on a day like today from his eyes, he squinted at her. Then his face broke open with bright white teeth.

"Azami? Hayashi, Azami?"

That voice with such a distinct accent—there was only one person who knew her that had that type of voice. "Kenji?"

When she neared enough, he pulled her into a one-fisted man-hug that was so close and lengthy that it made her skin crawl. Once her obligated time for pleasantries was met, she pulled away and stepped back so there was distance between them, but she didn't appear rude.

"How are you, girl? What are you doin' walkin' this far out on a day like today? Tryin' to keep that hot bod?"

Azami was sure her body wasn't any bit more attractive than the other women he had kept in his company in the past. As a matter of fact, since she hadn't had plastic surgery of any kind, she guessed she was at the more average end of the scale. She picked a safer answer.

"My ride ditched me." _Somebody_ had anyway…

"They did? What for?" Azami shrugged. "Damn, that's cold."

"Yeah and it's not too nice out here either. Got any room in your back seat so I can hitchhike?" she asked.

"Well, actually I'm…" He looked to the car, then back at her, taking in her tousled appearance. "Awww…you know what? Yeah. Hop in."

If the skies hadn't opened up in a torrential downpour right as she stepped inside, Azami might have reconsidered her decision. She didn't feel up to chit-chat, but Kenji just didn't feel like shutting up. She sat in the back seat behind him so that she was out of his reach and answered his prying questions with vague responses until he decided concentrating on driving on the wet road was more important than catching up. As they sat in silence, she had the chance to rehash her first reply to him.

Someone had to have dropped her off out there, right? Despite her condition, she couldn't, for the life of her, dig up the fuzziest recollection of what had happened. She was pretty certain she wouldn't have brought herself out here—at least not alone. She hardly left the city anymore and even if she _had_ decided to go—perhaps if she had been invited for some activity—she would have been smart enough to wear proper shoes. Probably. Okay, so she didn't really own any backwoods footwear, but with advance notice she may have gone looking for some—even borrowed some. She wasn't a total moron.

So if she wasn't a total moron that would go into the woods on an unprepared whim, it stood to reason that someone else had taken her there. But why? And who? And how had she wound up alone and injured? Without the answers to those questions, how could she know who to trust?

She glanced up into the rear view mirror. Kenji couldn't be a threat. Born in New York to parents who had left Japan behind, he had moved back to visit his grandparents as soon as he had turned 18. His hope was to learn about his culture and get started in a lucrative career in the video game industry, as any innocent, just-turned-legal-adult would dream. Unfortunately, his plans fell through once he arrived. Shortly thereafter, his grandparents fell ill and he couldn't afford to go to school and support them at the same time, so he chose the latter out of love. But with hardly any college education, no work experience, and extensive bills to pay, he chose a path that had good wages but was bad for his health.

He had joined the drug trade before Azami, but never had the brains or life experience to push his way up the ladder to any position higher than mule. He and Azami had been runners for the same handler for a short while, long enough to learn his story anyway. They had been a good team, cooperative at least, watching each other's back and covering for one another.

Coincidentally, they had also gotten out of the business about the same time. His grandparents finally passed away not long before Souma-san rescued Azami. She joined the Green Clan and seeing her move on to happier times prompted him to rethink his own choices. In the end, he moved back to America to be with the other half of his family, pick up the pieces of his life, and go back to school for a worthwhile career. But now he was…

"So you're back now?" she asked at length.

"Yeah. I couldn't stay away, y'know? Kinda fond of Japan…"

Even though he was in his twenties now, Kenji had kept his appearance about the same. From the bling gold chain necklace to the boots, he looked more like a gangster overcompensating for something than a college grad, though the New York accent just messed it all up. Plus his overly gelled black hair brushed back from his smooth but slightly stubbled face gave the impression of a greaser cross from one of those east side/west side, rich/poor, lame 1960's American movies. He didn't look like a devious mastermind who would dump girls in the forest.

"I can understand that," she agreed and glanced out the windshield at the city now visible in the distance as well as the constant rainfall. "Hey Kenji, you might want to slow down, man. Getting kinda wet out there."

"Can't be late," he replied. "It's alright, though. Just got new tires put on this baby."

Azami thought about pointing out how in a flood new tires wouldn't really stop them from hydroplaning, but she decided to stay quiet instead. Focus was a must when driving in storms. A few minutes later, though, he broke the silence anyway.

"So, uh…where should I drop you off?"

That was a good question. Even after thinking for most of the ride, she still didn't know how she had ended up unconscious at the base of a cliff. Where would it be safe for her to go? Maybe…

"I mean, I got some errands to run when I get back and stuff. Don't wanna make you sit in the car forever…"

In that moment, Azami had turned her eyes forward again. Kenji was looking at her in the rearview mirror while he was talking, so he didn't see the boulder come loose from the rock wall spiraling up the other side of the road.

"Kenji, look out!"

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do. As soon as he turned his eyes to the road, the rock mass was already tumbling down on them. He hit the brakes, but the car kept moving forward despite the earnest effort. The boulder smashed into the vehicle with such force that it shot them spinning off the road. Azami's neck snapped sideways, and a deafening _BANG!_ on the side where she sat was all she knew before she blacked out.

She came to a few minutes later to the sound of Kenji panicking in the front seat.

"Oh no! No, no _no_! This can't be happening! I can't be late again! Shit! _Shit!_ "

Right then, Azami was more concerned about her neck not being broken than if he was going to be on time to wherever it was. Slowly she wiggled her toes and then flexed various muscles up her back to test the movement of various parts of her spine before she very carefully rotated her neck and cracked her eyes. There was a lot of pain in her left side, and at first she thought it was from the seatbelt pulling into her skin as she was thrown sideways—maybe a fractured collar bone. When the world spun into focus, however, she realized that Kenji had been driving fast enough that the back end of the car had taken the brunt of the collision. Pushing hard on the door with her free arm and pulling on her trapped half only proved fruitless and painful; she was pinned—trapped.

"Azami…we gotta…you gotta help me…!"

"Kenji, I think we need to call the rescue unit," she said in reply, the amount of calm in her voice surprising her.

"Yeah, that's a good plan. Wait… _No!_ We can't call anybody! We gotta do this ourselves!"

Anger started to filter into her blood then. She had _told_ him to drive more carefully. So it was no shock when she snapped, "Kenji! The door is caved in on me! We _have_ to call somebody!"

"If we call them, the police will come!"

"Probably!"

"The police can't get involved!"

That sentence and the tone of desperation in his voice flipped a switch in her brain. "Why?"

He said he couldn't stay away. He said he couldn't be late. He said he had "errands" to do.

"M-Maybe I can—"

Her calm tone took on a serious edge. "Kenji, _why_ can't the police get involved?"

She saw his spine stiffen, and his head swiveled to look at her. One of the lenses of his sunglasses had been busted out and the wide, honey-colored eye peering out at her was ringed in red, the pupil dilated. She hadn't been able to see it earlier because of how far he was from her, but now the sunglasses on the stormy day and the lively chatting made it terribly obvious.

"Are you running again?"

His face went slack and his expression darkened. In a low voice, he answered, "I said I couldn't stay away… Sorry, Hayashi…"

Secret revealed, he kicked the driver's door open and went around to the back of the car. She heard him pulling and banging on the trunk, but he could not get it open. Likely, it had been damaged also. He came back to the driver's door.

"I'll go get the boss. He'll know what to do. We'll get you out."

That idea in place, he ran off.

"What? No! Kenji, come back! _Kenji_!" she shouted after him.

"I'll be right back!" echoed in the wake of his departure.

Yeah, he'd be back. Along with whatever pimp, mob boss, or syndicated he was working for. They'd want their drugs, and Azami being stuck in the car? Well, she was just a girl in the incredibly wrong place at the unbelievably wrong time, but they wouldn't let her live if she witnessed them with their haul. If they knew who she was (or rather, who she _used_ to be) and all the secrets she had collected over the years, they'd still kill her without Souma-san being around to protect her.

Besides that, even though she could partially see the road, they had to still be about fifteen miles from any sort of civilization. It would be forever before Kenji found them and they returned to where she was; she might already be dead from injuries by then. No matter what, she was dead.

Throwing her free arm against the seat in frustration, she felt the middle section give a little. It was one of the models with access to the trunk from the back seat. This mildly interesting discovery came with the realization that this wasn't Kenji's car; if it was; he would have known about this alternate route and not panicked as much. Curiosity and restless energy from entrapment getting the best of her, she pushed the section out of the way and reached her hand through the opening. A plastic bag met her fingers—a very sizeable plastic bag. There had to be a small fortune sitting in just this one package and no doubt there were plenty more because only one could have been hidden under the driver's seat.

Swallowing the increasing unease rising in her throat, she withdrew her hand and took note of a white dust coating the ends of her middle and ring finger; the bag was leaking. Almost without thinking, she lifted it to her mouth and tasted the bitterness on the tip of her tongue. _Cocaine._ It was all too familiar and instantly she had flashbacks of sleepless nights, endless energy, euphoria, and then more sleepless nights, thundering headaches, body tremors, and a heartbeat so rapid it left her gasping for breath on the floor of her bedroom at the Green Clan's base as she came off of the stuff. Fear grabbed her with icy talons and she reached back through the seat to shove the bag as far away as possible before she slammed the hole shut on any temptation.

She sat in silence for a moment, staring vacantly straight ahead while she tried desperately to calm her breath and beating heart. Then the anger took over, and she threw her fist down on the seat, again and again, harder each time before she shouted, "Sonofa _bitch_!"

If anyone on the road could see the totaled car and did call the authorities, she was _so_ gonna be arrested! And this time there was no one to bail her out. _What a way to get dragged back into this life…_

 _No. Not yet, Azami._ At first, she tried to center enough aura in one spot to weaken the hold of the metal on her, but being that she was basically sitting in a big, metal conductor, all that really happened was a buzz that caused pain to her injuries. While she had great confidence in her power, it was not helpful to her right now.

After that, she zoned out for a while, staring out the broken windshield and contemplating her demise, maybe dozing for a while. She really wasn't sure of her condition at this point; her left side was numbing under the weight of the dented door which could either mean her body was trying to handle the situation, or she had nerve damage. Either way, the break from the pain was nice, except it allowed her time to slip in and out of daydreams of where she'd rather be which was a little depressing, like the dreary weather conditions outside.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle as she sat alone, and during the interlude between squalls she was pretty sure that she could hear the ocean not too far behind her. But the pause didn't last long; once again the wind picked up into a howling thunderstorm that rocked the car. Cold, fat raindrops splattered on the roof and dribbled down inside to slowly soak the occupant. It wouldn't have been so bad except the vehicle had stopped at a downhill angle, so they were blowing into her face as well. This also was not the biggest issue to worry about.

The slope off the shoulder of the road provided a perfect place for runoff from the asphalt. Tiny rivulets trickled down, carving little capillary networks through the forest. The big problem was that as the storm raged on, these tiny vessels quickly grew in the already soft ground to deep veins, then small rivers that flooded over their banks and made the woods a soggy mess. And when the ground under the car became soupy mud, it only took a good gust of wind to set it in motion.

Azami's mind jolted to alertness when she thought she felt the seat under her shudder, and when her eyes looked forward, she saw the road moving further away. Her head turned in any direction she could see to make sure she hadn't just imagined it. Unfortunately, she hadn't.

"No…no, no…we can't go anywhere…" she told her captor, as if that would stop it.

A tree, however, did deter their descent just enough to send a stab of pain through her and get her hopes up. Then the wind shoved her again and the car slid around the timber, carving deep gashes in the trunk as it straightened itself out and then it continued its unsafe joyride downhill. _Not just unsafe, but unstoppable,_ she realized since there was no grinding of brakes; the idiot driver hadn't put it in park. Worse than that was when they started out sideways she saw just where the ocean was, and she was now straight toward the cliff that would give her a one-way swimming trip.

Desperately she pounded against the door with her free hand, but it wouldn't relent. Once more she drew as much aura out as she could and tried again to damage the restraint, but received no mercy for her efforts. She couldn't climb, she couldn't jump, she couldn't escape. She was going to die.

But then her death stopped a foot from her face and mocked her. _Not yet. You need to suffer a little more before you pay for your sins._

At the last possible second, the back of the vehicle had bumped over a large tree root and angled again. The ride ended when the rear passenger side had wedged up against a tree while the driver's mirror hooked in another. The sudden stop dug sharp metal edges into her side, but she was actually grateful by that point since she was then suspended out over a sheer drop to the sea.

A terrified yell ripped from her mouth before everything processed in her brain that she hadn't hit cold water and hard rocks yet. In fact, she had closed her eyes in anticipation, but when this realization hit her, she cautiously cracked them to look through the cracked back window and see the powerful foaming waves still far below her. A controlled exhale of "Oh…" came from her mouth next, ending in a nervous tremble.

Slowly, so as not to cause any motion to the vehicle at all, she reached up to her hip and felt around for any parts of her clothes that may be snagged or soft spots in the metal caused by the shifting that she might be able to release. She didn't have any luck there, but while she was gently pressing and tugging, her attention was drawn to a hard object in the right front pocket of her jeans.

Hope surging through her whole body, she attempted to straighten the free side of her body so she could worm her hand through the small, bunched space to retrieve it. The actions caused more discomfort to radiate from her injuries and she felt warm liquid dribble down her hip, but she did manage to pull the object out of the folds of fabric.

Her cell phone. Most of the time she forgot to bring it along, and if she did remember to take it, she usually wouldn't remember it was even in her pocket. Today had been like the latter, but she was eternally grateful even for that. It was a little wet, but the screen worked fine. The shell wasn't additionally damaged since the last time she had dropped it. She took a precious second to just hold it to her chest and feel the reality of it before she dialed the only number programmed into the contacts.

* * *

 _ **Ah, sorry for lying. As it turns out, Yata didn't make it into this chapter after all. Azami, however, is in great peril. How will she get out of this one? Who left her at the bottom of a cliff in the forest on a rainy day? She's in trouble with her old life now. Uhoh. Stay tuned!**_


	5. A Desperate Call

_**As promised Kateracks and Arait arrive on time. No need to stress further about last chapter's cliffhanger ending. Then, with no further ado, read on...**_

 _ ****Note - Minor changes were made to the ending of Chapter 3 in order to conform with this description.****_

* * *

Fushimi was annoyed. Not that that was anything new, but today it was especially prominent. Today there was a seminar on modern police defense for first responders; it was basically a class to teach the normal human police officers who might be first to arrive at a supernatural event how to protect civilians and not die until Scepter 4 arrived. Due to his level of social skills (or lack thereof), Fushimi had been very kindly not invited to participate with the other half of his team. He was instead ordered to stay at the bureau and be on the alert for any emergencies that may arise.

Because of this, when such an incident did occur, Fushimi was left with a crack team mix of new recruits and those of his usual partners who were less industrious or not as adept at combat. This meant they would do worse at containing the chaos and get even less accomplished in the aftermath than usual which meant more work for the senior officer, Fushimi—thus, the extreme feeling of annoyance.

It didn't help that the school had been advertised. That was just asking for trouble. So it was really no surprise when a trio of strains decided it was a great time to rob a bank. Or rather, there were reported to be three; they had only seen one so far. Another apparently had some tech know-how as the doors had been locked from the inside and then the electronic system totally shut down. This required that Fushimi get to the building where he could hook in directly and open the doors so they could actually apprehend the criminals.

The problem with this simple plan was the one strain they _had_ seen. This one was on the roof and appeared to have his own personal arsenal of weapons to endanger the Blue Clan, his favorite of which was currently a grenade launcher. This also would have been only an inconvenience if it weren't for the strain's power: a seemingly impenetrable skin that basically made him immortal. One of their choppers had already been grounded due to this fact.

They decided to go back to basic technique and have one team go one direction to draw fire while Fushimi's team got to the building. Once the first group set out the second came up from the rear when suddenly there was a crack like thunder and the boy to Fushimi's left dropped like a fly. His eyes darted to the roof, but he couldn't figure out where the shot had come from when there clearly were explosions in the opposite direction where the first group had moved.

"Scatter, meet at the rendezvous," the normally quiet boy barked to the troops under his command and then to the one kneeling by his wounded comrade, ordered, "Get him to the vehicles."

Concrete shattered at the toe of Fushimi's left boot and he darted out into the street, planning to cross over and take a less direct route to another access point. A different angle also might better help him assess where the danger was. Because he was running by that point, he didn't bother to check the Caller ID when his PDA went off, assuming it was one of his team.

"What is it?" he asked brusquely.

The response he got stopped him in the middle of the street. "Fushimi! It's Hayashi!"

Hayashi? Why was _she_ calling _him_? Not that he really minded deep down; that's secretly why he had allowed her to keep the cell he had lent her, but it really wasn't a good time. A bullet rang out metallically as it buried itself into a light pole in front of him, followed by two more in rapid succession so that he pretty much dove behind some garbage cans around the corner of an alley.

Pressing his back into the brick building behind him, he gave the response, "Now's not a good time."

"Don't hang up!"

"I'll call you back."

"Saruhiko, please!"

His finger stopped against the end call button. Not only had she just said his first name, she had followed it with "please". This _was_ serious (as if her tone of voice didn't suggest that already).

"What is it?" he asked again.

"I can't move!"

"You need a different escape route?" he guessed, presuming it was like the time she was stuck underground in the sewer. He peeked around the corner of his shelter.

"No, Fushimi, I mean I'm trapped. I was in a car wreck and—"

He caught a glimpse of something shiny in one of the office windows a couple floors down from the roof right before a bullet showered him with mortar.

"What's going on? Are _you_ okay?"

The boy clicked his tongue. She was trapped in wreckage some place and she was worried about _him_? "It's nothing. Where?"

She started an analysis which abruptly ended in a startled yell and a horrible screeching of metal.

"What's happening?" fell out of his mouth containing more than a bit of concern before he could stop it.

"I'm okay—"

Her words got drowned out by another pot shot and a message coming in on his PDA. His team had reached their alternate position and were awaiting his orders. He got to his feet and hurried down the alley to circle to where he could cross the street again under the cover of parked cars that had been abandoned when the shooting began.

"I'm sending someone," he told her and then hung up so he could make another call before he had to break into a bank that was in lockdown.

* * *

Yata blinked several times at his watch as it announced to him who was calling. At first he really couldn't believe it. He hadn't been able to delete the number from his contacts for this very reason—the dream that one day the person on the other end would call to say they were returning. A wave of conflicting emotions splashed over him and he only stared in shock at the screen as the ringtone got more and more obnoxious.

Eventually the emotion that settled on him was anger. The time for forgiveness was long over. He answered the call with, "Dialing me better've been a mistake."

He had taken so long to decide how to respond to the call that Fushimi had nearly hung up. He was almost as shocked to finally hear the voice on the other end as Yata had been to receive the call. He recovered very quickly, however; these were extenuating circumstances.

"You remember the number to your old phone?"

Yata frowned at the screen and the bar swiftly fell into silence at the voice echoing up from the skater's wrist. "My old cell number?" he repeated.

"Do you remember?"

Yata was growing more confused by the second, but he really could only answer truthfully, "I think so…"

"Call it."

An order. That got the short boy fired up again. "Hey! Don't give me orders, you bastard!"

"Hayashi is in trouble. Call it— _now_."

 _Click_ was the last thing the vanguard heard directly after a round of gunfire.

" _Hayashi's_ in trouble?" Kamamoto said, having heard the hot lead pops in the background.

Murmurings rose up around the room of young men.

"What did he mean by that?"

"How the hell does _he_ even know that?"

"What are you gonna do, Yata-san?"

Meanwhile, the bewildered skater was pondering to himself and slowly pushing the numbers into his watch's keypad. What _was_ he going to do? What kind of trouble was she in? Did he even want to talk to Hayashi? What would he say?

He poked the send button.

* * *

The rain had not stopped pouring and right in the middle of her conversation with Fushimi, the ground beneath the rear wheel still on solid ground…Well, it was no longer solid. Rather, all the moisture turned it to a crumbly, sloppy mess that gave way. The undercarriage of the car squealed as it scraped across rocks and roots further over the edge of the cliff and some chunks of glass were shaken loose from the crushed window near her face. With both rear tires in midair, it seemed her doom was sealed except the vehicle again stopped its movement, continuing to taunt her in its terrifying guessing game. She didn't know it, but the front axle had gotten lodged over a sturdy boulder jutting up at an angle from the edge.

From that moment on, she had been very careful not to move, breathe, or really even think too hard. So when the phone started vibrating, she was very deliberate in her movements to get it to her ear.

* * *

"H-Hello?" was what Yata heard after several rings. Though the smallness of the voice didn't fit, it was Hayashi—without a doubt. But then his mind went blank. What was he supposed to say? The voice came again from the other end of the line, a little more pleadingly this time. " _Hello?_ "

"H-Hayashi?"

"Yata? How did you—Did Fushimi call you?"

That question brought words to his brain. "He said you were in trouble."

She tried to bring out her usual confidence and sarcasm, but it definitely sounded forced when she replied, "Yeah, if you could call being pinned in the back seat of a car in a monsoon 'trouble'."

Kusanagi had tuned into the conversation and at that bit, he drew Shouhei's attention. "Go pull the van around."

"Where are you?" Yata asked as the boys all organized for a rescue mission.

"A cliff overlooking the sea."

"A lookout point?"

A small scoff came over the line. "Well, I'm out over the point and I'm looking at the ocean right now so yeah, you could say that."

"Stop joking around, dumbass, this is no time for that!" Yata scolded while they rushed through the rain to the tech van and a couple bikes.

Anger surged up into her to cover her trembling for a second. "Who are you calling—?"

But only a second. The side mirror that had been hooked on one of the trees with all its might finally could take no more strain. The jolt that went through the vehicle as it busted off sent a travel mug flying out of the front center console. It narrowly missed Azami's head, instead hitting her hand and knocking the phone from her grasp. All Yata heard, though, was a scream and shattering glass when the mug and phone broke out the already damaged back window. All heads in the van turned to look when their vanguard started shouting to dead air.

"Hayashi? _Hayashi_? Hayashi!" All that was left was a static-y dial tone. "Shit!"

The unasked question hung in the air for a second: Should they even bother going out now? If all that noise meant she had fallen into the sea, trapped in a car, would there be a point to it? As always, the last living veteran of the Red Clan was left to think rationally.

Kusanagi looked to their youngest member—who just happened to be their new King—from the front seat. "Anna, can you find her?"

The alabaster-haired girl in the red Lolita dress nodded her small head and sat on her knees on the floor. She smoothed out a map before her and laid a few red marbles on the surface.

Kusanagi nodded. "Alright then. Let's go."

* * *

Anna found a general location to begin their hunt. They parked at the scenic overlook nearest that and the boys disembarked. Kusanagi stayed with Anna in the van so he could send directions once she narrowed down their search radius. For the time being, Shouhei and Bandou set out to look over the immediate area. Fujishima and Eric had been dropped off earlier to work their way up to the van in their search so Yata and Kamamoto went to the next point past their parking spot while Dewa and Chitose rode their bike to the next point past that.

"You check that side, I'll go this way," Yata told his partner, dividing their area up even further by way of the boundary set by a small river created by the rain. Yata worked back toward Kusanagi since Kamamoto had the second bike to ride and it would be easier for him to go further up the hill and come back.

Yata skated on the road for a while since the trees were too close to allow a car to pass through and that would not be an ideal spot to begin looking. Eventually, though, things began to pass by too fast at that downhill speed; with the storm, it was too difficult to distinguish tire tracks in the mud from rain trails if he was just whipping by, so he got off and started walking. He was soaking wet by the time he found something of interest.

Well, it wasn't really interesting; it was a rock. At first it seemed just like an obstruction to view alongside the road, but as he got closer, he noticed a trail of pebbles it had left across the asphalt and the new home it had recently carved in the shoulder. When he neared it, though, he could see discoloration on the boulder itself. He hurried over and studied it further.

 _Paint._ The boulder had paint on it as if it had collided with something recently. _Maybe something like a car?_ He wandered off the road and squinted into the trees.

His heart rate spiked. There were long gouges in the forest floor and bark scraped off of trees in places. He jogged down the slope, careful not to slip so he wouldn't knock himself unconscious. The further he got from the road, the louder the sound of the ocean became and then a mass appeared in the distance. As he got closer and he was able to see more detail through the downpour, he could see it was a car and it was hanging precariously over the edge of a cliff.

"Hayashi!" he called as he slid his way down to it.

Over the rain he heard a faint reply that grew louder as he drew nearer. "Yata? Yata?!" He reached the front passenger window and poked his head through. "Yata!"

"Hayashi, what are you doing in there?" he asked without thinking.

Azami rolled her eyes. "Oh, you know, just hanging out. This is how I get my thrills."

Realizing his stupid reaction, the skater demanded, "Why aren't you out yet, dumbass?"

"Boulder hit the car, caved the door in on me."

He shifted his stance and then he could see her left side pinned underneath the gnarled metal. Maybe if he could reach back there he could pull it away from her. He tugged a little on the door in an attempt to get inside.

That wasn't a good idea. The ground under the rear of the car crumbled a little more, jostled the girl within and scared the boy without. Fortunately, the rock wedged under the axle held fast for now.

Even so, Azami's eyes widened, her cool mask quickly vanishing from her face, and she cried, "Get me outta _heeere_!"

Yata scrambled around to the side where she was and assured, "I'll get you out. Keep calm. I'm here."

He had never seen that sort of look on her faced before—not when she was blown out of a building, not when she jumped out over a bottomless pit, not even when she faced the Red King. And although she was trying to keep her air of confidence and feeling of control, it was very plain to see that was not the case.

"Why didn't you turn into a hamster or something so you could get out?" he asked in an attempt to distract her.

"Are you kidding? I'm a mid-level clansman, I don't know how to do that yet. I can only change into other people."

Her voice usually held a tomboy kind of timbre from what he could recall, but to Yata it had developed a distinctive strained squeak to it as if she was holding back a panic attack and it was taking too much out of her. He couldn't blame her. He was able to squeeze his fingers in around the edge of the door so he could pull on it, but to no avail. There was an indignant groan from the destroyed metal, but it didn't budge.

"Damn," he muttered. How was he going to pull her out? He couldn't get too crazy or he might knock the vehicle right off the ledge. It was in moments like these that he still wondered from time to time, _What would Mikoto-san do?_ He almost laughed out loud when the answer presented itself: _Duh. Burn it._

His first notion was to burn the whole door off since that would be quickest, but he was pretty sure Azami wouldn't appreciate a bunch of molten steel falling in on her. That, and he wasn't as precise with his aura as some of his clan members which could prove dangerous, maybe even near fatal, for the girl inside. The next option he considered was burning through the hinges, but that wouldn't change anything if he couldn't dislodge the body.

He decided to start from the bottom. Then all the liquid byproduct would fall down on him and maybe he could melt through just enough to reach her and not have to deal with the whole door. He was able to pull the bottom edge out enough to worm his hand through and then set to work.

"Hey, Red?"

She sounded much calmer now, reverting to nicknames, but she still wanted the reassurance of his presence.

"Beside you," he grunted.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to get my arm under the door so I can melt you out."

"You can't do that!"

He raised an eyebrow at her through the contorted window. "Yeah I can, it's not hard."

"If this car goes over and your arm is stuck in here, what do you think is gonna happen, genius?"

"I'll get you out."

"Hard to do if you're _dead_."

"I better be fast then."

Azami scoffed. "You're an idiot." Then she mumbled to herself, "Shoulda called a tow truck. I'm gonna die for sure. Trapped…in the back seat of a car…how boring…"

"Hey." Yata's head popped up into view another time and he found her face amongst the wreckage, his breath a puff of vapor fogging against the metal in the cold rain. "You remember when you told me that if we ever needed your help you'd be right there? Well, now you need _my_ help. I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere 'til you're out." A blush suddenly lit up his cheeks and he ducked out of sight once more. "So shut up and let me work. You can die later."

The door pinning her side grew warm among the cold shower and she tried her best to maintain control of her breathing and relax. After a minute or two, a slight breeze passed over her and she guessed he had managed to open up the bottom. To pass the time until he could get to her, she imagined what her figurative hour glass would look like right then with the small grains of sand becoming fewer with each passing second. Every once and a while, though, she had the power to stop the sand—sit back and smell the roses, so to speak. It was kind of a fun dream until she realized that the flow of sand was getting heavier and no longer pausing. Not only was that ruining the dream, but the sound turning out to be real shattered it to pieces.

"Hey, Red? I think we might be losing ground."

"You think what?" came the reply right before the vehicle shifted backward a couple inches. "Shit!"

"We're out of time!"

"I need one more minute!" Yata cried and turned up the heat.

The car slid a little more as the boulder under them gave up a few more chunks of its surface.

"We don't _have_ a minute!" Azami warned.

"If I go faster I could burn your leg!"

"Just do it!" she shouted at him.

"Fine!" he snapped in return.

His hand broke through the frame by the seat and he walked it across the cushion to where he could feel her hip. It didn't register in the young virgin's mind that he was touching her bare skin; what made contact with his brain was that she was bleeding and didn't move away when he touched the wound. The car slipped another inch, but it was that point that he found the jagged edge that was digging into her pelvis. Flaring his aura while trying to keep it mostly directed at the metal, he ripped his wrist upward. He couldn't ignore the cry that followed.

"You okay?"

"Keep going! My shoulder!"

His fingers brushed over her collar bone as the car rocked backward and drug him with it. He braced his sneakers against a tree root and leaned back, jerking his arm out of the door and melting a ten inch upward slash as he did so. It had been a reflex, but one that left his eyes wide with terror that he no longer had any sort of hold on the vessel containing his crush.

"Go Azami!" he yelled desperately.

That was all he could do as the car reared straight upward like a breaching sperm whale. But right before it sank beneath the waves, a blur of black and green shot out of the windshield like an emptying blowhole and he reached out to catch it even though it was aimed right for him.

Together the two listened as the great metal carcass crashed down the cliff face and then made a colossal splash and disappeared into the watery deep. Once it set in that the female hadn't gone with it, Yata scrambled out from underneath her. He didn't make it very far, however, before a hand shot out and grabbed his shirt, pulling him into an awkward but tight hug. The vanguard managed to enjoy about three seconds before he pulled away and climbed to his feet.

"Thanks," Azami muttered quietly but sincerely as she tried to gain her knees.

It soon became apparent when she only succeeded in turning over that she wouldn't get far on her own; her hip was in pretty bad shape. Yata studied her struggle and then the trek up to the road before he came to a more suitable conclusion. He knelt in front of her.

"Get on, I'll carry you to the van." For once she obeyed, but more out of necessity than willingness. As he took hold of her legs, though, he stuttered out the warning, "D-Don't go g-getting any wrong ideas. J-Just don't want you tearing open those injuries any worse is all…"

Azami managed a snicker, extremely grateful for the change in atmosphere. "You just watch yourself, Grabby Hands."

"What?" Yata gaped in horror and all but dropped her on the ground. "Never mind! You can carry yourself!"

"Aw, come back, Red! I was kidding!" Azami laughed as she reached after his receding figure. "You know I won't make it that far!"

"Tch, like I care!" Yata scoffed and then saw Kamamoto pull his bike to the shoulder of the road ahead, arriving to investigate the ruckus he had undoubtedly heard. Yata waved him toward the female. "Oi! _I_ saved her sorry ass, _you_ get down here and carry her!"

"Come on, Red, I'm a damsel in distress here!"

"You're not a damsel! Damsels are prettier and more delicate than you!"

"Asshole!"

"Bitch!"

Kamamoto sighed to himself and shook his head with a smile. "They're at it again…"

* * *

 _ **See, no need to worry. Azami is safe; although, this situation is so far from resolved. Gotta love those two's "terms of endearment" for one another...**_


	6. Requested, Unwanted, Forgotten

_**We're back! All the credit for last week's drama and fluff goes to Kateracks. Arait just occasionally provided hints to Fushimi's character. It's time for another Scepter 4 chapter, though. Enjoy.**_

 _ **Warning: We may go on temporary hiatus for NaNoWriMo again (the month of November).**_

* * *

Scepter 4 had less than minor success with the scene caused by the group of strains that afternoon. They had prevented a bank robber. After approving the deceptively vague "official press release," Fushimi was well aware the Gold Clan's Usagi would ensure no one knew more of the story than that. _Special police force of the Fourth Annex stopped three heavily armed guards from robbing Tokyo Central Bank._ That would be the headline.

The thought of ordinary people being kept in the lurch, believing only the tidbits the media fed them without knowing anything near the truth, brought a scoff from his tongue. Really the whole mission had turned into a miserable failure. Six members of the Blue Clan had been injured, two of them seriously enough to receive medical treatment. All three of the instigators had managed to escape when the situation had come down to an ultimatum: protect or arrest.

Fushimi thought if they were going to continue making use of this Secondary Special Duty Corps, they would need a great deal more training. They were no good at anything outside of regular Sword Division maneuvers and even worse at working together. Even with those members who were selected that day being paired up with one of the remaining members of the primary Special Duty Corps, they had not fully accomplished their goal.

A single part of the experience had proved useful. The three strains had all, in one way or another, proudly displayed the same symbol as the one from the last case: something like a colorful family crest with a red peace sign stamped onto it. The sign for peace shouldn't have been red. Red was the color of passion, violence, and revolt. There was clearly an uprising in the works. It appeared they were catching it in its maggot stage, but he could tell. If strains had begun to band together and stir up trouble, a revolt was on its way.

He couldn't report such a thing to the captain until he had surely founded proof, and he couldn't research it further until the wreckage was handled. With a grenade launcher involved and one of their choppers blown out of the sky, that itself was bound to take hours. Thankfully, Munakata had not been there. The powerful sanctum of a king would have sent the explosive devices flying entire city blocks away.

That fact reminded Fushimi that he was, in fact, the highest ranking officer on the scene that day. While, if in his place, Awashima would have certainly felt immense shame that they had been incapable of correctly fulfilling justice, Fushimi took a much more mechanical approach. As if completely, emotionally unmoved by recent events—except for a slight hint of irritability—he used his authority to divide the others at random into cleanup crews with the old man Bunya left to make sure everything was recorded thoroughly.

Satisfied with his lazy solution and actions based on rote rather than thought, Fushimi himself leaned against a centrally located light post where he would appear to keep a watchful eye of supervision. In reality, he pulled out his PDA and began to search parts of the internet that most people didn't even know existed. Having snapped a photo of the strains' symbol graffitied onto the interior wall of the bank, he knew he needed to find its meaning quickly.

Subordinates continuously pestered him with questions, which didn't matter much when he was still finding no results on Yaggle. Inquiries regarding where to put things, how to dispose of certain large objects, or what needed to be kept as evidence were easy to answer without thinking. They further highlighted the lacking qualifications of the current team, but they didn't interrupt him too badly.

Once he had gotten onto the dark web, he was entirely immersed in proving his right to be there. Even if people immediately recognized and sometimes respected his username user_, it was essential to set up enough proxy servers and ip address connections that they wouldn't be able to locate him while he could still hack his way through their strict access. These things were particularly difficult with nothing but a smartphone.

He managed. While he was looking into possible significance of or affiliations with the color of paint they used, the clansman Doi approached him silently from the side. Fushimi neither took note of him nor heard the tiny, unassuming, "Um...excuse me."

Doi waited quietly for some time. Then, curious what the typically disinterested third-in-command could be so engrossed in, he peeked over Fushimi's shoulder. His black eyes widened in surprise at all the secrets scrolling down the screen. The superior bypassed them all as if they came as no surprise to him—stories about a facility run by both the Blue and Gold Clans, that experimented on and created strains, about the once-fabled airship Himmelreich and what its inhabitant had done, about the app JUNGLE that everyone had put on their phone at one time or another. Doi could not keep up with the new information as quickly as Fushimi skimmed it. He was simply overwhelmed.

The subjects deviated to other districts of Tokyo as well, and it was at this point that Doi set aside awe long enough to have a thought: if he eventually wanted to become an efficient spy, he would need to learn to use that website. Resolved to spend his free time doing so, he went back to his original reason for coming over.

When Fushimi clicked a link, Doi knew it would take a moment to load and addressed him at that moment, "Commander Fushimi?" The statement, still lacking force and conviction, sounded like a question. Looking up from his phone, the young man glared at Doi with frustration on his lips and eyes that seemed entirely dead.

Even though it was Doi who had sneaked up on Fushimi, the former was the one startled. He quickly realized, however, that he would lose the brief moment of attention if he did not speak soon and straightened up. "I noticed something I need to tell you."

Fushimi looked him over, head to toe. There was nothing new that a kid like that could tell him of which he was not already aware. He probably only wanted to request permission to observe the Gold Clan erase the memories of the bystanders. Concluding this, he dismissed the distraction.

"You received your orders concerning clean up, did you not? What you do when that is complete is up to you, so long as your personal report is finished by the end of the day."

The words he spoke were so robotic they hardly even seemed to come from a human as he practically just repeated things he had heard thousands of times.

Doi being put off by his commanding officer's wrong presumption was not fully deterred. He retreated slightly then lingered, mentioning uncertainly, "Well, actually, about that..."

Fushimi, who had begun to skim the words of the new link on his PDA, looked at the younger boy like interacting with him was chore. "What?" He questioned, word that demanded the response be important.

Such directness naturally made Doi uncomfortable, but he pushed through it, saying, "You see, I was removing the helicopter wreckage with Fuse-san, but he was becoming frustrated with me because he never knew where I was. He kept saying I wander too much, but I was always right there at the helicopter. Fuse-san decided I was far too interested in the minor details and sent me to work with Bunya-san recording."

A brief silence passed between them while Fushimi wondered what part of that was so urgent he be told immediately, but he eventually just said, "Whatever. That's fine."

Case closed. He turned back to his phone which displayed a list of known gang signs and reported graffiti around Tokyo. He thought maybe he would have to expand the search even further to all of Japan in case this group had moved in from out of town. That ought to be far enough, since the Slate didn't seem to send its powers farther than that.

Doi remained still and cautiously pressed, "Commander Fushimi?"

Fed up with him, the young officer didn't even look up this time, simply ordering, "Get to it, then. Record and report."

Doi scurried away, never having the chance to mention his discovery.

Things got more interesting at the bottom of the page of gang signatures when he found a hidden door to a forum discussing the matter. There were a few users he recognized—some well known, obsessive conspiracy seekers, a few black hat journalists, and people with nothing better to do—and there were some he had never seen before. He ignored basically most of what any of them said, but he posted. Yes, it was a terrible, risky idea. He would have to leak confidential, Scepter 4 intel, but he believed he could cover his tracks. The only people who even had a chance to trace it back to him were JUNGLE and that one strain who communicated telepathically with computers. Neither was implicated in this case, so he was unthreatened in his deeds.

All the same, he would speak from the point of view of his online self and not as the commanding officer at the scene.

 **[Saw an explosion today. South of office in tech center. Was at lunch in numbered streets district. Three men ran by all wearing the same symbol. Something like a medieval, western shield with flames, swords, and a peace sign. Can't find it anywhere. Any of you heard/seen this? Is there a new gang in town?!] user_**

It was vague enough that no one could pin down a location and unlike him enough that they wouldn't make the connection either. Satisfied, he dimmed the screen and looked at the part of a "peaceful nation" that had the appearance of a war-torn land. The blue clansmen were beginning to pack up their trucks, and Fushimi acknowledged it seemed as if their on-site work were finished. He sighed and rubbed his neck. He was sick and tired of cleaning.

Fuse approached him, then, starched as a soldier, almost as if he might salute, and informed him it was time to return to base. Their exchange consisted of no more than this. Fuse simply made his way straight to the transport. Fushimi also had this intention, but a small vibration in his hand drew his attention back to the terminal. _Had someone answered already?_ Listed as a reply to his post read:

 **[Hah! Haven't heard of this one yet. Sounds scary! I'll look around and see what I can find ;-) ] -Kanra**

Fushimi pondered the significance of such a response for quite a while. Once he was in a vehicle and just barely starting to let his mind drift off, another notification called his attention.

 **[Looks like this won't be easy. I'll get back to you tonight if those legendary "Rabbits" haven't erased your memory by then. Hahaha. Just kidding! ] -Kanra**

 _What a strange and annoying girl,_ Fushimi thought. But somehow it also felt like she might prove useful. Phone in his hand and a twenty minute drive with nothing to do, Fushimi recalled, at last, a different subject. He wondered if, after all this time, _that_ girl was all right. Things had sounded very bad when she called. As much as Misaki was unconsciously madly in love with her, his pride in receiving instructions from a traitor may have caused issues. Maybe there was also a part of him that very minutely regretted he had not been able to immediately rush to her aid himself. Either way, he had made a promise, one he didn't intend to fulfill with all his colleagues around.

That said, he unlocked his phone and scrolled through the numerous contacts he wished he didn't have—but kept anyway so he could easily know who wanted to bother him—looking for one that used to belong to his one-time friend but had been reregistered under a different name: Hayashi. Opting for a choice easier and far more discrete, he ran the messaging app that he had designed for use uniquely between himself and that device. He typed a brusque message but one that accurately reflected the breadth of his sincere concern.

 **[You alive?]**

Maybe she'd answer in the affirmative, and he could set aside the worry.

* * *

Paperwork was an aspect of the job that Fushimi could not sluff off on others. As a commanding officer, he was required to approve all the reports submitted from his subordinates, as well as the full report and the press release before transferring them with a summary to Munakata. Many members of Scepter 4 were notorious for handing in poorly formatted and incomplete documents.

Domiyouji, for example, was so childish that he described events using stick figure diagrams. Thankfully, he had been called out to act as the mock-strain for the police/first responder training course. It was frequent, however, that reports needed entirely redone, and it was simply easier for him to correct them himself than to contact each clansman about every mistake.

That night, three out of all of them were thorough. Of those one was submitted by Gotou, the person who released the monthly, clan journal. The other two were far too detailed. It was to be expected coming from Genda, the obsessive compulsive kid from Division 6. He had written down every single word spoken, window broken, and flower trampled during the event. He might as well have been a 3D video recording of it that began the moment they received a call at headquarters.

The old man who was well known to have good reporting skills was indeed thorough. At the same time, he filled the pages with fluffy words that must be removed in order to learn anything useful about what happened. Fushimi did note a couple things of interest in each of those that no one else had mentioned. Several people still hadn't turned one in at all.

Fushimi had never been the kind who looked constantly to his phone for messages from others. He hardly received any. Even if he used the device quite frequently, it wasn't for socializing. Everything was different this time. Between each major accomplishment he found himself glancing to the unlit screen, hoping to see a tiny LED flash in the upper corner.

Finish his report—glance at the screen.

Finish compiling a damage estimate to Scepter 4 property—glance at the screen.

Do the same for public property—glance at the screen.

The more time that passed without a response, the more often Fushimi subconsciously hoped one had escaped his notice. It became something almost second nature that just happened involuntarily. Around 9PM he realized dinner time had come and gone without him. A heavy workload still ahead of him, Fushimi glanced at the screen and headed down to the cafeteria. There he grabbed something prefabricated and microwaveable. During the three minutes that it cooked, he glanced at the screen both before and after getting an energy drink from the refrigerator, as well as once more when he returned to his desk.

He was knee deep in searching for correlations between the Mirage Strain Case and the Impenetrable Strain Case—as they had respectively been named—when Doi entered the workspace and sheepishly came up to Fushimi.

"Commander Fushimi," he began, "about earlier, there's something I think you should know."

The latter only acknowledged his presence for one reason, "You haven't submitted your report."

"Ah, about that, you see," he fumbled meekly at first but eventually found words to form a sentence. "This thing, it's just I'm not sure if I should put it in the report or not."

In answer, Doi might as well have received a voice recording of the manual. "A report should include all the facts of which you yourself were witness, which you consider relevant."

Doi pondered the words carefully. As he hoped to one day be part of the Gold Clan, he tried his best to earn a good reputation here by doing things exactly as requested of him; although, this often times went unnoticed. He determined that, based on protocol, the report must already be up to standard and handed it to Fushimi.

"It's done, then," he said and then turned to leave. His resolve was not firm, though. Hesitating, he asked further, "What about suspicions?"

"Suspicions should be made known to your superior officer," Fushimi answered, having given only a minute amount of attention to the conversation.

"That's what I thought," Doi mused. _Wasn't that what he had been trying to do? Wasn't Fushimi typically a far more perceptive person than this?_ The boy actually wondered what was the worst he could say and still get away with. "I definitely think Lieutenant Awashima is a guy."

Fushimi raised his eyes away from the computer that time, but he wasn't even going to credit that ridiculous kid with a reaction. "Quit messing around and leave already."

Once the office was empty again, leaving Fushimi alone in the darkness with a couple dozen sleeping computers, he settled back into his work. His monitor was the sole source of light to the room and it illuminated his face in unnatural shades. The desk was covered by papers, cans, and empty snack bags. Before he could get too far with work, a vibration came from his right. Without hesitation, Fushimi activated the PDA to see what message had been received. The notification directed him to the forum once more, and he actually felt a bit of impatience as to what the user Kanra had learned. As expected, it was her who answered, saying:

 **[Was this the symbol you saw?] -Kanra**

Attached was a picture file that Fushimi hurried to open. He thought maybe another occurrence of the same thing would give them clues. Instead, the image that loaded was taken inside the bank. Feeling more than a little fear, Fushimi exited the browser and shoved his phone in a drawer. The Blue Clan had definitely ensured that no civilians entered the scene. Only Scepter 4 and a few Usagi had been allowed inside the bank. So how had that girl gotten that picture?

The first possibility was that she had traced user_ back to Fushimi's phone, hacked into it, and uploaded the very picture he had taken. That was a danger of the dark web. It wasn't the same picture, though. The angle, zoom, and lighting were different. Another possibility was a leak. Perhaps he was talking to an Usagi even, someone posing as a civilian conspirator in order to track down those whose memories needed to be altered. Those options were what frightened him. He recalled Kanra's message from earlier warning him about "those legendary 'Rabits'." He hadn't thought anything of it then, but the way she had phrased it had been strange, as if she believed the Usagi were an urban myth, a joke. At the same time, Fushimi had mentioned nothing supernatural that should have invoked their name anyhow.

Who was this Kanra? Fushimi suddenly got the feeling he should definitely not be talking to her.

Then again, if she had that picture, she probably had some information regarding it. That was quite a tempting notion. With his PDA in one of the drawers, though, he was able to set it aside and focus on work.

At 2AM he felt he had done everything that needed to be done before he could present to Munakata in the morning. Exhausted, he rubbed his forehead and glanced at the black screen of his phone before heading to bed. The series of subconscious actions made him double think himself.

 _Why had he looked at his phone? What was he waiting for?_

The answer quickly came to mind: Hayashi. He had texted her hours ago, and she had never responded. The words she had said on the phone that afternoon rang through his mind. She had been in very deep trouble, and she hadn't responded to his message. Hoping that maybe it just hadn't gone through, he immediately dialed her number, disregarding what time it was.

Her phone rang once in his ear and then a feminine, automated voice came on the line, "The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."

The thoughts that flashed through Fushimi's mind, drowning out the second half of the message, were not at all pleasant. While originally they centered around Hayashi—where her whereabouts had been, if she was incapacitated, dead, or just separated from the phone—they quickly deviated to reasons to blame Misaki. As he focused on that, an anger like something he didn't often feel began to well up inside, moving his feet of its own volition. He didn't care that it was several hours before dawn, nor did he care that he was wearing a Scepter 4 uniform. Slipping on his jacket to protect against the cold, he stuffed his phone into a pocket and headed after someone who could give him an explanation.

On the corner of an intersection where the sidewalks were paved with cobblestones laid a quaint, little neighborhood just outside the reaches of downtown's overtly, modern technology. The atmosphere was calm and quiet, in daylight hours as well as the middle of the night. However, within an arms reach in either direction were the violence of the slums and the lively center of Shizume's upright activities. On the frontier of these two worlds, a small shop sat below apartments with potted plants hanging from the upper windows. A neon sign in red announced, "Closed."

It was the perfect location for a certain bar with the foreign name of HOMRA. The bar master was as classy as they come, and he dabbled under the table in all sorts of activities, legal or not. As a contrast to what one might think, out of respect for his customers he did this to keep the streets safe. From this mission of conflict was born the gang that lived by the name of their bar. Homra was a group of thugs who served the community—something like metropolitan Robin Hoods. Yata, Misaki—the current target of Fushimi's rage—lived and breathed for the sake of Homra. If there was an appropriate first place to look for him, any date or time, this bar was it.

Logically, it would be closed at this time of night. With "last call" not far past, however, it also was not surprising to see light flood the street with warmth through the front windows. Someone was still inside. Without making himself entirely obvious, it was impossible to know who, so he elected to go through the back door. He still knew where the spare key was, so entering would not be an issue.

As he was reaching behind a light fixture, it suddenly flashed on. Instinctively, he slipped into a shadow out of sight from the doorway. From there he checked to see if the fixture was on a motion sensor. It was not. That meant someone was coming.

Silence dragged time out like rewinding an ancient cassette. Just when doubt began to creep in that anyone would come at all, the sound of a voice could be heard. Muffled through the door, one could still tell that it was exhausted, compliant, and unfamiliar. Then, came the shuffling of weary feet, the thunk of a deadbolt, and at last the creak of an unoiled, secondary-use door.

The person who stepped into the night, along with the suspended particles of a bar's dense atmosphere and a bag of garbage for the dumpster, was one of the members of Homra who knew Fushimi as nothing but a traitor. The confident blond in an HMR ball cap, Shouhei, Akagi, had joined the clan years after Fushimi had left; therefore, he heard only the story Misaki presented, which in turn was what the "traitor" himself had led them to believe.

That said, this situation played right into his nature.

When Shouhei was on his way back to the bar, never noticing he was being hunted, the blue clansman grabbed the back of his jacket and shoved him against a wall in the alley. Fushimi had balled a handful of T-shirt in his fist and invaded personal space before his prey even registered what had happened.

"Call Misaki out here." The demand held an inexplicable element of threat. Physically, Fushimi's stature was wanting and unintimidating. His eyes held murderous intent behind a dull sort of callous, and with the flames that he himself had fueled, not a single under-clansman of Homra doubted for a moment it was true.

"He-he's not here," Shouhei stuttered from the initial surprise of being attacked in their own domain. He had naturally told the truth. Maybe it was fruit of his fear, wanting to be let free. It didn't hurt to answer that question honestly anyhow. He would be prepared for the next.

"Where is he?"

The tone of the interrogation had quickly turned into somewhat of a frenzy, but the red clansman did not reply. He stood firm and straighter, trying to close the height gap. A mere four centimeter difference felt dramatic when pressed down, into a wall with a deceptive amount of force.

Impatient by nature, Fushimi did not like taking time to draw things out of people. He had a twisted side to him that easily frightened people without much effort on his part, but there was no time to tap into that. If Misaki had been there, they would have already resorted to a battle of auras. He could feel within a searing, boiling red that churned, forcing his blue to the surface like something that might ebb from his shoulders and lick at his fingers at any moment.

All that was reserved for Misaki, though, so he had to move more quickly. A throbbing in his head made his vision flicker, and he whipped out one of his throwing daggers to maintain his own concentration. He eased the blade up against the skin where jaw meets scalp with the delicacy of a secret lover and unmatching words that slithered.

"I'll start with your ear."

The unfortunate victim swallowed hard, but he made the mistake of assuming the impostor wouldn't dare do something so brazen at the headquarters of another clan. He didn't know Fushimi. Neither had he ever heard of the three-day-deep connection the "traitor" had with the "green girl" who had helped them find Totsuka's killer. Since he had no awareness of the situation in anyway, metal pierced into skin where the sensitive nerves are behind the jaw.

Shouhei cried out, "He's not here! He's not here!"

"I said, 'where is he?'" Fushimi growled, smashing him further into the wall, and dug deeper with the blade until it passed through the cartilage of outer ear.

Interrupting them came the impression of a presence to the right an a soft sound. "Saruhiko." The tone was gentle and sleepy, mixed with an unusual, authoritative firmness.

Fushimi looked over and down at the girl who had brought him to a halt with just his name and felt his knees give out slightly. The almost-twelve year old girl whom he had watched grow up from a distance stood there barefoot in a pink, frilly nightgown, her pale hair flowing lazily over her shoulders and sticking up on one side. She seemed to be holding back a yawn behind a commanding glare.

It certainly would take a while to get used to the child being a king. All the same, he could neither move nor breathe in the presence of a Red King. He never had, and even now the young girl, glowing in the light of the exterior lamp, made him withdraw his blade and release her clansman with a single word.

Once that was handled, she ordered, "Come with me."

As she walked out into the night, Fushimi could not hesitate to comply. Clearing out the last load of trash from a late night, bachelor party at his bar, Kusanagi came through the door to find Shouhei alone, terrified, leaning against the opposing wall, and cupping his bleeding ear. He called out to the boy would had agreed to help him for the busy night.

"What happened? You look like you just saw a ghost."

* * *

Anna gradually brought her aura back inside her, containing it with a capable restrain Suoh, Mikoto had never known. Whereas he had chained his powers and ignored that the constantly bared their fangs until finally bursting free, it seemed she had quickly trained hers. The red came when she called it and then subsided as if she lulled it into temporary dormancy.

They had only covered a block or so before Fushimi no longer felt the foreboding impression he had experienced at first. Rather than a captive submissively complying with the orders of a king, he looked more like her uncle, and they quickly sank back into their typical, wordless interactions. She didn't seem much different, after all. Not even a teenager, she still more resembled a doll than a human. Her skin and hair were flawless like porcelain, her expressions unwavering, and everything she wore was an over exaggeration of the stereotypical delicate.

Now that he thought about it, she was hardly wearing anything at all. Her shoulders and arms were bare, as well as from knee down. The fabric was surely not thick enough to ward off the cold before dawn. Due to the rain that had come down from the mountains that evening, her bare feet padded along the damp sidewalk.

How careless. She must have been cold.

Removing the jacket of his uniform, Fushimi tossed it at the child. It landed with the collar over her head and draped all the way to the ground. She glanced back at the young man she once knew well enough to call by name, not the tiniest bit startled by the unexpected flying clothes.

"Saruhiko, I..." she began to speak, but Fushimi immediately turned away with a click of the tongue. The expression she wore, even with the coat wrapped around her like a security blanket was dignified beyond years, something that vaguely resembled an amused, gentle scolding from Munakata. That's right. She was the Red King now. She would never again be cold.

"You were making me feel like a pedophile," he excused, convincingly giving the impression that it had been his intention from the start.

She never understood why they lied to her when she had always seen right through it. "Did you leave me time to dress?" She asked.

A single question was a full-blown reprimand, and Fushimi suddenly felt annoyed that the king was so much younger than himself. Why was he even following her? It wasn't like she had said where they were going.

In addition to her new possession of red aura, Anna had always had a certain amount of power. Clairvoyance was something hard to understand, but it effected the mentality of those she knew well. Instantly she could instill terror, pain, or calm in whomever she chose. Currently, Fushimi felt her nature, their past, and her powers subduing him into a relaxed state. Even annoyed, fighting was no longer anywhere near his thoughts.

At this time of night, the buses and trains had stopped running, since most of the city slept. That meant—wherever their destination—they had to walk. The part of the Red King that was still a child quickly grew weary, and before long she was riding on Fushimi's back. He still had no clue where they were going, but he followed her step-by-step instructions through the city.

At last, they came to the General Hospital. While Fushimi stared at the front door, perplexed by all the possible reasons for coming here, Anna muttered into his shoulder, "Fifth floor."

In the elevator, the nurses looked at them sideways like it must somehow be illegal, which made a normally tedious journey become unbearably awkward. No one spoke a word, and Fushimi hurried to exit as soon as the doors opened. He set Anna down, then, and tried to rouse her since he did not know where to go next. She yawned and stretched, her tiny arms still not reaching the cuffs of his sleeves.

While she glanced around to gain her bearings, a voice rang down the hall, "Damn machine! Give me my change!" A shoe kicking the side accompanied the angry shout, and a smirk spread across Fushimi's face. Whenever he heard that voice, nothing else in the world could reach his mind. Right then, he was seeking that very thing for a particular reason: to kill him.

Forgetting entirely that he was the adult responsible for a minor, he set a lazy gait towards where the ruckus came from. A short punk with a beanie was still arguing with a vending machine when Fushimi rounded the corner. He didn't waste a second. One of his throwing knives was fully charged with the blue that had threatened to overflow before, and he lodged it straight into the plastic fronting. Power exploded forth from it along with the sparks of failing circuitry, pushing the target back a few feet.

"What the hell?" The young man demanded after the blast, but he recognized the knife before him.

"Mi-sa-ki~" A familiar greeting mocked. This was harsher, though, more than a condescending insult meant to provoke. This sounded like condemnation.

Yata responded fearless and instinctively anyhow, "Oi, what's the idea, Saru? You could have killed me."

Any conversation that had at its base violence and name calling was doomed from the start. The two boys should have known at least this by now, but on top of that this one was also founded on misunderstanding, fear, and lack of communication. When it had been Fushimi who started the fight, rather than instigating it with carefully chosen derision, Yata knew something was wrong. His daggers were out instead of the sword of Scepter 4, and he didn't bother to make a provocative reply to Yata's question.

Fushimi crossed the space between them with unexpected haste, and Yata just barely avoided being stabbed in the neck. He responded with a kick whose only intention was to keep the blue clansman at a distance.

"You can't just pick a fight for no reason, Asshole!" He roared, grateful for his good reflexes. And to think, he had concluded his next accidental encounter with his old friend was likely to be a peaceful one after that day's events. Wrong assumption!

Catching the kick with his wrist as if it were nothing, Fushimi didn't back off in the slightest. Instead, he used the leverage he had acquired to initialize a martial arts maneuver that resulted in Yata pinned to the floor. The elder of the two boys abruptly came to the realization Fushimi hadn't come to toy with him this time, to taunt or beg for attention. For some reason, this was a real fight. This was the first time his life would truly be in danger if he didn't fight back.

Of course, it would have been better had Yata determined his life would be in danger if he didn't _listen._ Yata wasn't a listener, though. As remarkable as his hearing may have been, it only worked when he deemed it useful. Rather, he pinwheeled to his feet, a move that brought aura into their battle to preserve his life. In turn, Fushimi raised blue around his own fist to block it. His goal still to put distance between them, Yata threw a rally of flame engulfed punches that could act as a first layer of distraction.

The opponent reacted, while he fended those off, with something that seemed both lazy and efficient, raising a knee to Yata's gut so he could fling him once more to the floor. It wouldn't be so easy to take him out, though, as he used a skill Azami had taught him and dive rolled over the leg and back to his feet. He finished by sweeping one leg out to trip Fushimi, but the boy in glasses casually side-stepped.

Yata got up and ran. He wasn't retreating; he was no coward. He just needed a moment to process. His flight was instantly halted when a row of three knives hit the floor in front of him with blue wisps like souls leaving dead bodies that exploded into an uncrossable wall of the same color.

Jumping back, Yata faced his pursuer and shouted, "What the fuck, _you_ Damn Monkey?"

Finally, Fushimi answered something, accusing, "You listen worth shit."

"Eh?" The response was bewildered. Particularly with the complete lack of explanation so far, such a statement was an ironic contradiction.

What Fushimi said next didn't clarify much, "Just die already!"

"I listen just fine," Yata insisted stubbornly. "You haven't said anything."

"I told you to save her!"

The words came out with such uncharacteristic sincerity and despair that Yata's mind drew a complete blank. When it came to interpreting Fushimi, he was always either 0 or 100% right, nothing in between. This time, he was totally wrong.

"Like hell I'd take orders from a traitor like _you_!" He declared, and his entire upper body caught fire.

Not fearing the red aura that was also in him, Fushimi checked the shorter one into a pane of glass in the corridor wall that made a loud thump.

Suddenly, Yata recalled another occasion when this same tone had been used, when ever word to come from that boy's lips reflected sincere hatred and his body language was frantic. One day at the Fushimi house, Saruhiko had argued with his dad like that. Yata honestly wondered what he had done wrong to be placed in a category with that worthless man. Fushimi laid a punch across his face, and he didn't even react. Maybe, if he thought hard enough, he could remember what he had done.

Another blow came, and then again. Yata could tell his face would definitely be swollen and blue the next day, but he didn't actually care. It was as if he could feel years of repressed emotions coming out in each hit. Fushimi still didn't speak, yet Yata got the impression he was saying a lot. The time that Fushimi had fought his dad had been to protect him; Yata had eventually realized that back then. So now what was so important that he would lose all control to protect it?

 _Or who?_ He corrected his thoughts. The one thing he had said was, "I told you to save her." Who was _she_? If this change had come so suddenly, maybe it was safe to assume the request had been recent. Did he not know that Hayashi was safe?

Deciding that must be it, Yata raised his arms to cover his head in a defensive stance. "Oi, Saruhiko stop," he said in a totally different tone, a mild one that wouldn't exacerbate the situation. Knowing this would take more than an instant to diffuse, he stood like that and winced when knuckles bruised a bone in his forearm. It was hard to resist the reflex to beat the crap out of Fushimi in return, but he did his best to hold back, even when a blow to his vulnerable abdomen made him want to heave.

"Look, about Hayashi," he continued patiently, but he was startled when a loud rapping sound came from the other side of the pane of glass right by his head.

He didn't have to guess who had knocked. No nurse or random member of Homra would have deterred Fushimi, but the distressed boy had stumbled backward and fallen straight to the floor, gaping up at the face in the window.

"Hay'shi," he muttered most of her name from where he sat with a hint of something that could be called relief on his blank expression. For her part, she looked pissed. Even in a hospital gown, with bandages around her shoulders and down her leg, and clinging desperately to an IV rack to keep steady on her feet, it was noticeable. From her bed she had clearly seen the unraveling of the merciless battle.

She had already been furious when the Red King had run in, lifting a Scepter 4 uniform twice her size away from her feet so she wouldn't trip, and stated bluntly, "They're fighting about you."

At that, she knew she had no choice but to intervene, regardless of the strain it would put on her physical condition. Pulling herself out of bed, she struggled to cross the room and put an end to their pointless fight. To her surprise, it had succeeded far quicker than she could have imagined.

In the hallway, Yata didn't have to look behind him to get a general idea of what it looked like. He saw it all in Fushimi's face. Dropping his shoulders a little bit sadly, he sighed and said what he should have from the start, "She's right here."

Somehow, the blood in his mouth didn't taste bad and the pain spreading across his entire body felt deserved. He had never even thought to call Fushimi back—the one who had originally received the distress call—to mention everything had been handled properly. He hadn't actually realized it mattered at all to him.

Fushimi managed, at last, to overcome the shock and speak. "But...the phone?" He asked as if it were a complete question.

"Ah," Yata seemed to understand this time and laughed. "It's a good thing you called me when you did. Seems while I was on the phone with her," he gestured over his shoulder with a thumb, "it got blasted into the ocean by falling rocks, or something."

The odd usage of the verb "to blast" gave off a nostalgic vibe for Fushimi, and as the fear that had dominated him subsided, he too let out a bit of a muffled laugh. Stupid technology. It was impossible to live with or without it, and yet even without it, life went on. Even when it worked properly, it failed them entirely. Perhaps without it, such a fight would never have taken place, yet in that case perhaps Azami would be the one at the bottom of the sea.

Yata extended a hand, offering to help Fushimi off the floor. "You wanna come in and say 'hi'?"

With the fury dissipated, Fushimi was still the same Fushimi. Conceited, and determined to make a show of independence, he stood to his feet on his own. He did not, however, refuse the invitation.

* * *

 _ **Yeah, that's right! All of you who were worried about Yata's reaction to Azami's reaction didn't even consider how Fushimi might feel about it! Get ahold of that miserable failure at hiding his true feelings. Anyhow, coming soon: The three odd friends try to get to the bottom of what actually happened to her.**_

 _ **Also, if anyone knows who Kanra is without googling it, Arait has promised to read and positively review one of their stories. Easter Egss are fun.**_


	7. Examination

_**Ah, sorry for being a bit late. Arait and Kateracks were concerned with really transitioning properly in this chapter and having the right ending. Hope you like it.**_

 _ **As a forewarning, this chapter does contain references and mention of MATURE content from Azami's past (such as drugs, rape, and prostitution). Nothing is described graphically. Just be advised allusions are made. If you do not feel comfortable with it, please skip to the next chapter.**_

* * *

As the boys were collecting themselves and making their way into the room, Azami gimped herself back to her bed and climbed aboard with a wince. There was a beat of silence once she was settled as she looked the two males over with a scrutinizing eye and then told them to come closer via a beckoning finger. Yata stepped obligingly to her side, thinking she may need some sort of assistance.

"That's a nice shiner you got growing there," she grumbled to him. Yata opened his mouth to place blame, but quicker than he could get the words out, the Green Girl grabbed the ice pack she had been using for her hip from the bedside tray and slapped it roughly against the swollen side of his face. Yata cried out when a shock of pain raced from the top of his head to the base of his neck, but she ignored him and growled, "What the _hell_ are you two _doing_? This is a _hospital_! There are sick and injured people here trying to _rest_!"

The boys pointed at each other and stated simultaneously, "It's _his_ fault."

"I don't _care_!" she hissed in return. "Do you have _any_ idea—" Abruptly thinking better of following that line of thought because it would put her back to that afternoon when she was pinned in the car, she threw up her hands instead. "Will you two just chill out and be quiet so I can get some sleep?"

Deciding he liked the cold it provided despite the harsh way it was presented to him, Yata pressed the ice pack against his bruised skin and slumped into the chair at her side, inquiring, "Are you really gonna be able to sleep? I'm still wired."

She slid down under the covers and folded her arms. The bed was still at a gentle sitting position so she certainly didn't appear ready for slumber. "I dunno. Probably not. But I could try if you two could be in the same room without trying to start a fire." She shot Fushimi a pointed look.

The Blue Clansman clicked his tongue quietly and looked out the window into the hallway, muttering, "None of us would be here if not for you. Why don't you tell us what happened?"

"I don't remember all of it," she began when the door unexpectedly swung open and the on-call doctor for the night entered.

She looked in surprise at the new additions to the room and then zoned in on the bruising on Yata's face. Her lips parted in confusion and then formed the question, "Are any of you immediate family?" There was a unanimous shaking of heads in reply and then the medical professional's cool demeanor took an abrupt turn; she immediately ushered the boys toward the exit with, "You two need to leave right now."

"It's okay, doc, it was just a misunderstanding," Azami piped up, but the physician wouldn't have it.

She motioned two nurses in to escort the boys out and announced, "We aren't going to let any outsiders in this room for the moment."

"Hey, wait…!" the patient voiced.

The doctor gestured to Anna. "You, too, sweetheart. Just for a little while."

Though they complied, the three still protested in their own ways once in the hall, Yata being the loudest when he demanded "What's the big idea?!" right before the door closed once more.

Baffled, Azami stared at them out the window until one of the nurses drew the curtain, shutting out the light of the hall. The girl felt suddenly trapped among them and her muscles coiled in preparation for if she should need to escape. She met the doctor's eyes.

"Why did they have to leave?" she asked in a low tone.

"Can you remember what happened to you before the car wreck today?" the physician queried.

Azami sighed. "Not any more than the last time you asked me. Why?"

"We got your lab results back. We did some extra analysis to be sure, but the results are positive—you were drugged Hayashi-san."

The patient's mouth dropped open. "I—huh?"

"That explains your amnesia and why you are so lethargic."

"Are you sure it's not just a concussion?" Azami asked incredulously.

"That also is still a possibility, but the lab results are conclusive. Do you know anyone who would have wanted to do this to you?"

"No!"

The doctor nodded her head decisively. "That is why we are not allowing anyone to visit you right now."

"But _they_ wouldn't drug me!" the girl insisted, gesturing to the window where she knew her friends were still waiting on the other side of the curtain.

"Do you know that for sure?" asked one nurse.

"Yes!"

"Unfortunately, we see this all too commonly, Hayashi-san. These cases happen most often between the victim and someone they're familiar with," the second nurse explained. She appeared older than the first and therefore more seasoned which led Azami to believe she knew exactly what she was talking about; a sick feeling started to develop in her stomach.

To steel herself, she replied with certainty, "They wouldn't do that."

The hospital personnel still looked unsure and Azami grew more nervous with each passing second that they debated through looks shared with each other without ever saying a word. Clearly, they had worked a lot of these cases together, saw the denial of the victims, and revealed the cold, hard truth to far too many innocent people. The girl in the bed no longer wanted to be alone with these women; she wanted a familiar face to be at her side after all the overwhelming—probably partially criminal—events of the day. Then something occurred to her.

"Look, at least let Fushimi come back in. He's a police officer." The orderlies looked to the doctor for her opinion, and Azami pressed, "Seriously, ask him. I'm sure he's got his ID."

The doctor pursed her lips as she mused over the words and then inquired, "Are you consenting for us to share your medical information? This is confidential, after all."

Azami nodded without giving the question too much thought as a feeling of moderate desperation began to grow within her. Her legs were twitching restlessly, eager to run and put as much distance between herself and the hospital as possible. In that moment, she'd do whatever it took to be on her way to making that happen.

The doctor spoke to the older nurse, "We'll have her sign the release of information," and then gave the go-ahead to the young nurse who was closest to the door. She went out into the hall, returning a second later with a perplexed Fushimi in tow.

"Hayashi-san tells us you're on the police force," the physician prompted once the door was closed again.

Fushimi gave the Green Girl a look of questioning, but seeing that her face had gone pale, he withdrew his PDA from his pocket and held it out for the staff to see the Scepter 4 badge. "Special Duty Corp, fourth annex."

The doctor inspected the insignia and nodded her approval. "We have a situation, officer. Hayashi-san has requested your presence in this matter."

Fushimi passed her another look, trying his best to hide the majority of his surprise. _She_ had requested _him_ , called for his aid for the second time in the span of not even 24 hours. It was beyond was he had anticipated; he preferred not to think of it as being more than simple necessity. Nonetheless, he nodded for the physician to continue.

"Given Hayashi-san's incomplete recall and bruises on her body reminiscent of grab marks, I ordered some lab tests in addition to our usual panel. Upon reading the results, it was confirmed that she has traces of Flunitrazepam, or what is commonly referred to on the streets as a 'roofie', in her system. We believe this is a large contributor to her amnesia over last night's events. It is our protocol in these situations to offer to inform the authorities and do a rape kit if the patient gives their permission. If the kit comes back negative—"

"And it will," Azami interjected.

Both the physician and Fushimi gave her a look of surprise, and then the provider continued, "If that's the case, it is up to the police to conduct a further investigation." There was a pause to allow this information to soak in and then, "If everyone is in agreement, I suggest we begin now as it is quite late."

The older nurse approached the girl's bed with a clipboard. "This top form is to obtain your consent for the testing. The second is the release of information so we can share what we acquire today with the authorities. We need your signature on both."

Azami hesitated a moment, pretending to read the fine print and twirling the pen around between her fingers. Already she was beginning to regret her impetuous mouth; she really didn't want to get prodded anymore today—not this way, not in front of Fushimi. She hated these places and she just wanted them to be cleared to take her home. But the hospital staff were going to make her stay anyway, at least until they were sure her condition was satisfactory for discharge, so maybe her cooperation would put them all at ease.

She signed her name.

Already the tension lessened just a fraction since she didn't put up a fuss, and the doctor's demeanor again changed, her squared shoulders relaxing just a bit and her tone taking on a kinder quality. She looked over the instructions in the kit and decided, "We're going to change the process a little. We've already collected most of your past medical history when you were brought into the emergency room. We also bagged your clothes at that time so we'll just have to make sure they are tested for evidence."

Azami looked begrudgingly at the hospital gown they had given her to wear as an alternative while the nurse scribbled notes. She had insisted from the time she had arrived that the design of the outfits were stupid and that they give her a second gown to cover up her backside. She had lost enough of her dignity for one day.

To Fushimi the physician said, "There was also a record made of the incident surrounding the car accident, but nothing before that. Let's start there, Hayashi-san."

"Not much to add," Azami replied. "The last thing I remember was climbing into bed. Next thing I know, I'm waking up with my face in the dirt at the bottom of a ravine."

"The clothes we collected are not your pajamas, I assume."

Azami shook her head. "No."

"Then at some point you must have gotten up and changed or someone changed them for you."

Azami shrugged and supplied, "I don't know why anyone would bother to change a girl into something as under-dressed as black jeans if they were just going to rape her and dump her over a cliff. Sweatpants would do."

A faint "hmph," an expression of amusement, escaped Fushimi. He ducked his head toward his PDA more when the girl's eyes turned to him, acting like he was taking detailed notes. Hayashi's witty persona was making a quick recovery; that was a good sign.

The doctor somewhat ignored the comment but figured if she was being snappy then she was up for some more trying topics. "I don't want to sound callous, but considering the circumstances, I believe this to be a valid question: Before the events of today, were you sexually active?"

That wiped the faint smirk off of Azami's face and she looked to her lap, hair curtaining her expression as she answered, "Yes…I was." Maybe it wasn't a good idea to involve Fushimi in this after all.

Fushimi, for his part, felt the same way. With all of the muscle control he possessed in his neck, he kept his head from popping up out of shock. Misaki's crush—his former friend, Yata, Misaki, the boy who could hardly speak to girls and crashed his skateboard over lingerie ads—his female counterpart was not a virgin? This news would probably make the poor boy's head explode. Fushimi himself was rather proud that there was no falter in his typing on his PDA. It almost appeared as if he hadn't heard her at all.

The hospital staff went about their business. "Contraception?"

"No." The girl's answer was short and clipped. There was no way she could afford anything like birth control with no medical insurance, not that she needed any right now anyway.

That answer was a little more perturbing for the other women in the room, and they met each other's eyes, exchanging silent words once more. The doctor was the first to clear her throat and get back on track with a different angle. "How many partners have you had in the past six months?"

Azami felt a little relieved when she could abruptly change her hesitant response of "I don't know" to the first half of the question to a definite "None" by the end. Fushimi hadn't realized he had stopped typing at that point, but he quickly covered his interest with the physician's next inquisition.

"Do you have anyone you suspect who might have done this then? Anyone whose DNA we might find?"

"Still no. Hasn't changed in the past ten minutes," the patient responded in exasperation.

"Who was driving the car?" Fushimi spoke up.

Azami shrugged her good shoulder. "A guy passing by."

"Just one passenger other than you?" he clarified.

She nodded. "Figured it would be better that way if I needed to make an escape."

"What happened to him?"

"Hell if I know. He went to go get help while the car was still on solid ground. Never saw him again."

"This is in the medical report?" Fushimi affirmed with the young orderly who gave the affirmative. "I will need a copy of those notes."

"We'll have those prepared for you before you leave. We're going to do the physical evidence collection so we'll need you to step behind the curtain."

As if a well-trained gentleman, Fushimi moved out of the way with a slight bow of his head and put more intense focus on his PDA as the privacy curtain was drawn with the words, "Hayashi-san, we'll have you remove your gowns now."

Once out of sight, though, he leaned against the wall and glared death through his normally dead-fish-like eyes, no longer seeing the screen. Fushimi, Saruhiko was roiling inside. It wasn't a common occurrence, by any means, and it would have been quite unnerving if he had had an audience.

The various facts raced around his mind trying to find where they each fit into place, but he still couldn't make sense of much of Azami's tale. How honest was she truly being? Obviously, at least, she never would have gotten into the car with an unknown passerby. She was too wary of strangers to believe that statement. Then, was she protecting that person, or afraid of him? He had abandoned her, severely injured, and for what? _To go get help,_ she had said. Why hadn't he called for help? She had.

What about her injuries that were older than the crash itself? As much as she insisted that none of the people she knew would do such horrible things to her, they _had_ beaten the crap out of her, changed her clothes, and dumped her far outside the city. If they had used that drug, why wouldn't they have done what it was used for?

How did she know they hadn't? Did she have some memory of the event that she was deliberately withholding just like the identity of the driver? Was she in panicked denial? That didn't seem quite right. She actually knew somehow that she hadn't been assaulted in that way.

Fushimi's mind remained baffled by this puzzle he was unable to solve, but there was a different feeling in his chest. Something boiled like a fire, spreading outward with a deep voice that scowled, "Forget about the details, just burn them." He thought his feet might storm out the door right then and grab Misaki to declare war on the world. If at the end, only the three of them had survived, he wouldn't be upset in the least to stand in the remains.

Logic prevailed, though, and he reminded himself that he didn't even know who "they" were. He couldn't go after anyone until he had at least that much information. All he knew was there had been two incidents. Two of her "friends" had become enemies. While a jaded, damaged side of him scoffed, "Figures. Betrayal is inevitable," a well hidden, sincere side always got heated over these situations.

As it was, he was playing the role of Police Officer here, and it seemed Azami had only used that fact because she was too unsettled to handle this by herself. He had to be the one to maintain his calm. Shoving the easily excitable red aura back into the deepest part of his gut, therefore, he replaced it with a more recognizable layer of indifference as the older nurse pulled back the curtain, revealing the battered Green Girl resettled anxiously in her bed. Only in his eyes did a flicker of flame remain.

"We have all we require for now," the doctor informed him. "I will turn it in right away and we'll have the results as soon as possible so we can know how to proceed, though it may not be until later in the morning considering the hour."

Fushimi dipped his chin in understanding, and the staff left the room in a much calmer manner than they had entered, even informing the two in the corridor, "It's alright for you to go in now."

The new Red King and her skater clansman returned to the room, Yata so flummoxed by the situation that he really had no vocalizations to make other than "Damn doctors…" and he took a seat on a cushioned bench running along the wall parallel to the bed. Anna climbed up to sit next to him where she'd feel safe and comforted, given the vibes in the air. Once the noise of the hallway was again shut out by Fushimi, he turned and fixed Azami with a glare.

"What really happened?"

She straightened a little in the bed. Why was he looking at her that way? Wasn't she the victim?

"What are you talking about? I told you, _and_ I told them what happened!"

"Situations like this happen most of the time with people you know. So who has a grudge?"

"I told you guys more than once that I don't know!"

Fushimi eyed her in wordless suspicion, calculating his next words.

"Grudge? Situations like what?" Yata blurted into the tense silence between them.

Azami looked at him with a mask pulled over her expression. Any mention of what they had suspected actually happened to her would probably make him throw up right before he stormed out of the hospital to burn anyone in sight. She settled for a less revealing, "Nothing."

Fushimi, however, was not so concerned with using tact against Yata's feelings. He replied with a blunt, "She was drugged."

Yata's eyes went to the size of saucers. " _WHAT?_ By _who?_ "

Azami face-palmed. "For shit's sake…"

"She knows, but she refuses to admit it."

"Oh please…" the girl groaned in mock pleading. "If you know my secret answer, please enlighten me so we can all know."

"Consider the facts: the last thing you remember is getting into your bed at your clan's base. You woke up in a forest with sedative drugs in your system and wearing clothes that could only be found in your own bedroom."

Azami seemed to begin to catch his drift. "So what? The Green Clan has a lot of people who aren't fond of what we do. It could have been remnants from the Black Clan bent on revenge or a random yakuza member!"

Speaking of her past, Yata inquired, "Really, Hayashi? You'd just follow a random yakuza member into the forest?"

They all knew she wasn't that stupid, but Azami didn't look ready to admit that Fushimi may have had a point so the Blue Clansman went on, "There are no defensive wounds, just those from the crash. That suggests you knew the person."

"That doesn't mean it was another Green Clansman! It could have been you—or _him_ —for all I know!"

Yata sputtered in disgust for a second and then blurted, "Hell no, it wasn't me! I don't even know where to get that stuff!"

Fushimi saw an opportunity and seized it. "That's probably why you've never been with a woman."

The skater glared death and stabbed an accusing finger at the tech. "Maybe, but I bet _you_ use it all the time!"

"Are you _serious_? You're going to try to keep score right now?" Azami interrupted them, indicating her current position, and Anna curled up next to Yata. "I know it wasn't you two, stop being such guys! I'm just saying your speculation has no solid ground."

"Doesn't it?" Fushimi retorted.

"No! The Green Clan are informants for the public! We don't try to kill people!"

Fushimi shared a look with the boy he had insulted only moments before that was far too obvious for the Green Girl to miss.

"You got something to say?" she demanded.

Yata glanced to his newfound King and then stared down at his hands when he admitted to her, "Hayashi, the Green Clan kidnapped Anna and tried to kill her after she became king."

A scoff passed Azami's lips and she jabbed, "You're losing it."

"It's true! Kusanagi-san and I went there to save her! We all were almost dead, right, Anna?"

The small girl nodded her head at the unpleasant memory, watching Azami's response to the new information very carefully.

"That's crazy!" she insisted stubbornly. "Souma-san would _never_ —!"

Her words froze in her throat then. No, Souma-san wouldn't do something like that, but he wasn't the King, was he?

 _Azami burst through the doors to her King's office with a grinning Kazuki in tow and a quiet Shun trailing behind. Before either of her partners could steal her thunder, she announced, "We're home, Souma-san! Have we got a story for—"_

 _She cut herself off and shut her mouth tightly. With wide eyes, the three clansmen noticed that their King had company—a young boy wearing a school uniform and a middle-aged gentleman in a long robe stood alongside a man in a strange wheelchair. The amount of green aura pulsing inside the room was energizing; causing her to tingle from toes to scalp, it was enough to make Azami giddy and unnerved all at the same time. Either these were high-ranking clansmen or Souma-san was having a very heated discussion with three offenders. She should not have been so informal._

 _All three of the new arrivals fell into hasty, awkward bows and the female apologetically voiced, "I-I—We're sorry, Your Highness, we didn't know you were in a meeting."_

" _It's quite alright," both Souma-san and the man in the wheelchair answered simultaneously._

 _There was a look exchanged between them and then Souma-san faced the confused clansmen. "It was somewhat unplanned. However, as you're here now, you might as well know…" He spoke to the man in the flashy wheelchair for a moment, "These are a few of the top informants from my division: Nakahara, Kazuki, Hayashi, Azami, and Shun. They do a good amount of gathering intel from street work." To the trio he gestured at the stranger and introduced, "This is the Green King, Nagare, Hisui."_

 _Dumbfounded, Azami stood silent, her brows knitted and lips parted slightly in confusion; behind her, Kazuki whispered to Shun, "He's taking over for Souma-san? Can Kings retire?"_

 _Souma-san smiled a little to himself, used to their behavior. "No, King's don't exactly retire. They can voluntarily step down from their throne. In this case, though, that is not needed. Narage-san has always been the King of the Green Clan."_

 _All three reflected seriously on this revelation for a long silent minute while they studied their apparent king. His hair was a color very similar to Souma-san's, although it was more dark green than black and, whereas the older man's was long but styled, this twenty-something-year-old wore his in a haphazard mess directed off over his left eye, making him appear somewhat wild. That wasn't the only thing, however, as the more eye-catching aspect of his appearance was a long ashy green straightjacket that was tattered at the hems hanging near his bare feet. Nevertheless, despite his arms being bound, there was a glossy, high-tech control panel built into the chair around him. Maybe it_ was _possible that he could have more control over them than they originally thought…_

" _If you have any thoughts, I would encourage you to speak them now," Souma-san prompted._

" _So what you're saying is…" Azami spoke up slowly, a tiny sense of betrayal and dreaded realization starting to grow in her gut. "…that all this time I thought I was serving_ you _as my King, I've been lied to."_

" _No, Azami," the man in question replied resolutely. "You have been serving under me. I am the head of the intelligence division and I have been standing in all this time as Nagare-san made me Acting King in his absence while he was away tending to other matters. I promise you, nothing will change between you and I."_

 _That was a reassuring statement, but as Hisui's one visible, dusty blue eye turned back to her, her unease did not lessen as she was sure she saw a malicious glint flicker across it._

"Hey, yeah, what happened to that guy?" Yata asked, bringing her from her reverie.

"He's still there…but he's not the King…"

She took a cup of ice from the tray near the bed and sipped the cool runoff from the melting cubes, hiding that lost feeling she had developed behind the rim of the receptacle. Even though she spent most of the day getting waterlogged by rain and nearly drown in the ocean, she found she was suddenly very dry-mouthed.

"No, he never was," Fushimi confirmed. "For an informant, your lack of knowledge about your own clan is unsettling."

Yata sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. "How would any of those Greens even know that? The way they're set up, it's hard to tell who's a clansman, who's not, who's at the top, or who's even in charge. It's one big crap shoot."

Azami gave them dirty looks. "Yeah, I guess we're a bunch of scatterbrained mice in a maze just because we don't all wear the same stiff uniform or react in the same irrational violent manner like our leader, Suoh, Mikoto."

One could easily see Yata's face morph into an angry expression, ready to defend his former idol, but a small yet firm voice beat him to the punch.

"Don't insult Mikoto."

Azami felt a miniature heat wave wash over her hospital bed as the new Red King gave her a stern rebuke. She raised her hands defensively, not that it would have done much. "Sorry. That _was_ uncalled for. My point is, even if you can't readily identify us, our operations are still organized." She looked to the Scepter 4 member present. "How do you know so damn much about the Green Clan anyway?"

Yata provided, "We've been dealing with JUNGLE for a long time. They've always been up to no good."

"JUNGLE?" Azami repeated in confusion. "You mean the online social gaming network?"

"Didn't you play it?"

Azami shook her head. "It was big in my middle school, and I watched some kids play it, but I never did. I…had a lot going on, remember?"

"How did you get your powers then?" Fushimi inquired.

The female frowned. "What do you mean? I passed a simulation from Souma-san with flying colors, and he gave them to me."

"That's…inconsistent," the tech responded thoughtfully.

"Huh?"

"People play JUNGLE to earn points and get higher ranks," said Yata.

"Sounds like a video game," the girl inputted sarcastically.

The skater ignored her and went on, "Once they get a certain number of points, they get powers."

"From a game?" Azami stated in amusement. "You guys really need to do some more research on us 'Greens'. Every one of the clansmen I've met have been real people, not avatars."

"Haven't you ever wondered who developed that game? It was _your_ clan," Fushimi snapped, growing tired of her stubbornness.

"All of the missions in the game are designed so your King can get his nose into everyone's business," Yata added.

Fushimi scoffed. "How did you think they collected all their information? As if the knowledge base they have could have been due only to people like you investigating the city."

Unexpectedly, he was showered with ice chunks, and Azami gave him a glare. "Why didn't you think to say something, huh, smart guy? Maybe 'Hey, Azami, you're being used and lied to'?"

"As if you'd listen…" Fushimi muttered, shooting her a dirty look of his own and dusting the ice particles from his uniform.

"Maybe not—I'm still not convinced—but then I'd at least have food for thought when all this happened—" She spread her arms widely at the hospital room around them. "—instead of you just dumping on me."

"That's what you get for trusting in ' _friends_ '," the sulky boy retorted.

The familiar fire at long last lit in Azami's eyes and she quipped, "I trusted _you_ , didn't I?"

No amount of self-control could have hid the surprise that flitted across his face and the startled "mm" that passed his lips. That's right. She had trusted him with her life when she called him, and she had trusted him to be in charge of the current sensitive situation. But it was one thing for her actions to convey that; it was entirely another for her to say the words aloud so bluntly—and in front of his rival, Misaki, no less! He could do no more than stare at the pillow propped long-ways behind her shoulders, unable to look at the sincerity in her eyes another time.

With no further rebuttal vocalized by the tech, Azami felt that ended the current argument for now, and she slumped heavily against the bed. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, knowing that she had ultimately dragged them all into this mess, and it was stressful for people other than her. She glanced at Fushimi between her fingers and watched him stare into space for a moment, probably trying to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his night—morning?—that she had disturbed, among other things…

"Hey," she drew his attention and gestured to the armchair near the bedside that Yata had occupied earlier. "Come over here and sit down. I haven't thanked you for what you did yet. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here to argue with right now."

Yata smiled a little at that. "I guess that means I owe you two of them now, huh?"

Azami looked between the half-scoff Fushimi gave and the smile that now played on the skater's face, grateful that the topic was drifting away from centering on her. "Two what?"

"Proper thank you's," said the vanguard. "I still haven't said it for the time he helped us when Anna was taken by—" He saw the frown form on the Green Girl's face and swallowed the rest of his sentence. "Um, well…Too bad you didn't know about the second time so it wouldn't have taken us so long to get to her."

The Scepter 4 member raised a brow that Azami voiced the question for: "Second time?"

"Yeah, the whole neighborhood was trying to drive HOMRA out and these dumbass gangsters…"

* * *

 _ **Hopefully this will suffice throughout November. As was mentioned before, we may be MIA for the duration of NaNoWriMo and its aftermath. Look for us again sometime in December!**_


	8. Secrets

**_SO EXTREMELY SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT!_**

 ** _Kateracks: A_** ** _nd it wasn't even my fault this time! I was even writing while you weren't writing this time and i was bugging you all the time to finish. For once i was not the one with writers block._**

 ** _It's all your fault they had to wait so long._**

 ** _Arait: :( Really sorry._**

 ** _-Because it was absolutely evil on Arait's part to do that to all of you, we will forego all explanations and go straight into the chapter. Author's note is at the bottom-_**

 ** _But first, An Ode to #VioletFireflies in the style of Ichigen-sama:_**

 ** _Elusively bound_**

 ** _By the twilight of seasons_**

 ** _A flicker in hand. ~Arait_**

* * *

It was an unearthly time of night. Most of the city slept at such an hour, tucked securely into their beds. The moon had already laid itself to rest, leaving the thickest darkness possible within city limits. As a contrast, the Scepter 4 headquarter grounds were scattered with bright, flood lights which cast strange shadows in artificial colors.

Deep inside the walls of the main building, at the end of the central hall was the control room. There a few people had personal desks, as well as there being several tables where anyone could set up for temporary work. The space was momentarily abandoned. Clansmen commonly worked overtime long into the night or arose early to finish a task before a deadline. For a small period of two hours or so the base was nearly always empty. Every lifeform - of the combat team or office worker, from enabled, animal prisoner to human clansman - slept. Except one.

Hotaru, Akihime had been in the Development and Testing Laboratory on the second floor of the building between the Archives and Headquarters of The Fourth Annex when the former day's emergency call required all hands on deck. As a scientist, she had never expected to be asked to participate in field work, much less hazardous combat. Due to the shortage of manpower with the coinciding seminar for the police, the entire unit Hotaru was a part of was deployed.

She hadn't been called into combat like in the case of the Mirage Strain. That may have been because the captain's snobby pet had been left in charge of everything. If he wasn't arrogantly depreciating her talents, he had certainly simply been too lazy to make any choice more complicated than sending the entire Research Division to work alongside Intel for their mission. She supposed it could have turned out worse than it did.

Then again, it should have worked out much better than it had.

These thoughts were replaying through her mind sometime just before dawn precisely because she was at the personal desk of that stand-in-commander in the control room. It was not by her own will that she had sneaked there under the cover of darkness to snoop through his belongings. She had effectively drawn the short stick in life.

Word had spread quickly through all of Scepter 4's divisions that Fushimi had received an amusing video of the seminar. Those who had been down at the precinct attested to its hilarity, while the few people who had seen it could do it no justice in their recounting of it. That had caused great distress to a number of coworkers in the Research and Development Division as only one from the team had been invited to demonstrate certain enabled-person restraining devices that had been invented by the Gold Clan.

That person had convinced the entire team that they would be missing out on life if they didn't get the chance to view the recording made by Special Duty Corps' Hidaka, Akira. She was the only one they all agreed would have a chance of getting anything from Fushimi's computer. Hotaru didn't understand why. All the computers in Scepter 4 were standard issue with the same firewall.

Slipping through the marble corridors of the Fourth Annex's main headquarters would have been a challenge had she not removed the clunky boots associated with the clan's uniform. Thankfully, her socks muffled the sound some. A low hum of dormant electronics finished drowning out her steps with mind numbing white noise, so she easily reached the desk she sought.

The screen cast blue upon her face as it awoke grumpily from an electronic slumber. In the tower, a fan whirred to keep the awakening parts cool. Pops and whistles filled the silent room, seeming exponentially louder than they truly were. Hotaru suddenly felt the need to be smaller and sank into his office chair.

It was quiet and smooth like a cloud floating through the sky. She wondered briefly why all the chairs at the annex weren't as ergonomic and impeccably well maintained as that one. In the lab they sat on rolling stools that creaked with every movement. Even the other chairs in the control room, while having the same resemblance as Fushimi's were as hard as the wood they were carved from appeared. On the contrary, Fushimi's chair seemed like it ought to belong to the captain himself.

The early hour started to get to her then, and she yawned thinking the seat would be plenty comfortable for a nap. As she dozed off, vision of the computer before her swirling, she realized something wasn't right. Even _if_ the chair was, for some reason, abnormally comfortable, she never fell asleep that easily. It was booby trapped. Although she had quickly acknowledged the danger, her limbs were too weak and tingly to make an immediate escape.

At last Hotaru managed to flop herself onto the floor, causing a great clash of sounds from the obstacles she collided with along the way. On the bright side, no one had been around to see the graceless maneuver. Down on the floor her sight gradually returned so that she saw a small aerosol canister mounted to the seat bottom. It was releasing a dark vapor hardly noticeable in the night.

On the container was written in sloppy handwriting "WS-35," an archive classification code. Slowly regaining her feet, Hotaru scoffed audibly. He was making use of the annex's catalogue of psychokinetic samples to rig his own desk. It wouldn't be easy to reacquire the used up substance for their records. After that blunder she was determined to be more careful.

She approached the computer once again. It had loaded up to the login screen. Hotaru was positive his password would follow their organizational procedures. What she feared was something extravagant like an electric shock coming from the keyboard. Extra cautious, she shied away, jaded by the first obstacle. After acquiring a metal pen from the grated cup containing them on the desk and throwing it at the keyboard from a distance, she felt reassured by the lack of adverse reaction.

In order to maintain transparency in the government, all of the Fourth Annex's public computers followed a standard login convention. The password was in romanji - capital first initial, capital last initial, asterisk, full date of birth. This meant, regardless of what he did with his personal computer in his own chambers, Fushimi's password was undoubtedly, "FS*0711199X".

As expected, the operating system loaded up its home page. Startlingly, there was no customization whatsoever. The wallpaper remained a cloudy, blue background sporting the faded emblem of Scepter 4, Special Police Force. The taskbar, while being of the most recent release was standard in the programs displayed, their default icons, and original order. On the desktop itself were shortcuts only to the applications used in their work on a daily basis.

Even the email client was unmodified, unsecured Thunderbird. Unfortunately, there was evidence of nothing in his inbox resembling a comical video from fellow Special Duty Corps member Hidaka. Neither was the sought after message in the spam or deleted folders. Hotaru presumed in order to play the file, it had to have been downloaded at some point, so she double clicked on a file manager.

A message box appeared with an error stating, "Administrative Access Only." That was unexpected, since wouldn't Fushimi himself be considered administration? Yet she couldn't even find any indication of where to input another password.

Hotaru was abruptly startled by a tiny sound, like the displacement of air caused by the swinging of a door. Whether it was her imagination or not, she immediately reached to the power button on the monitor to darken the screen. A figure emerged from the predawn shadow, approaching the desk, and Hotaru froze. If she held her breath, maybe they would mistake her for furniture.

Such a hope was futile, as a short, young man with dark hair stepped up to her without a sound. Then, as if he'd been watching her the whole time, he mumbled, hardly noticeably, "You won't find what you're looking for that way."

Unsettled, Hotaru could only respond, "Doi! What are _you_ doing here?"

The aspiring Usagi deflected the inquiry, "As a swordsman, the control room is also _my_ office. Isn't your presence more unexpected?"

With a scoff Hotaru fibbed, "It's official business."

Doi neither flinched nor did he waver even the slightest from his unremarkable lack of intensity. He simply stated obviously, "Scepter 4 isn't the type of clan to survey their own members in such an inquisition."

That illicited a reaction similar to a laugh cut short. "How hypocritical coming from you."

More than a little offended, the clansman revealed his intentions, "I came to leave an anonymous tip on this desk. When I heard your graceless clattering coming down the hall, I secured a defensive position which permitted observing."

Uninterested in the rest of his excuse, the female scientist snarked at what caught her fancy. "An anonymous tip? Seriously? What, are you afraid?"

Doi proceeded to recount, thereafter, how he believed he had overheard vital information from the super-powered suspects while on the scene of the previous afternoon's bank robbery. What they said had been in code, which he thought he had properly interpreted. Presenting the information to his equal, among the low-ranking members of Scepter 4, Doi had no troubles forming the words as he pleased. He easily explained to her how he had already attempted to share this information with Fushimi on multiple occasions and was repeatedly shot down apathetically.

"Since it isn't definite fact, I didn't include it in the report, as Fushimi-san instructed," he concluded, "but ever since, it's been bugging me. I decided, I ought to make the intel known."

Having listened semi-intently, Hotaru commented, "But still, an anonymous tip? If he wouldn't listen to you before, do you really think he'd read a note? Besides, wouldn't it be better to redact your report?"

"Oh no," he countered surely, "he's already entered those into the computer, and everyone knows only Captain Munakata and Lieutenant Awashima can get into his files."

Somewhat deflated by his assertion that _everyone knows,_ Hotaru muttered, "Is that so...?"

Doi nodded almost imperceptibly. "He has a password unlocked by Bluetooth synchronization. That's why I said, unless you've managed to acquire one of their three phones, or you know how to emulate Bluetooth configurations, you won't find what you're looking for."

So that's why the other scientists were so sure they wouldn't be able to succeed. Hotaru understood, then, and sulked childishly. It wasn't like she particularly cared about watching the stupid video herself, but she sure wouldn't look forward to returning to her colleagues empty handed. Failure didn't sit well with her.

A silly idea came to her, and it slipped her mouth before she could censor it. "Hey, you're an aspiring spy. Could you do something like that?"

"No way!" Doi refused, and his firm voice sounded much like a robot. "I intend to stay in their good graces, as much as it depends upon me."

In spite of his initial determination, Hotaru had just what it took to lure him in. With a confidence inappropriate for her offer, she assured she could help him get his crucial data to their superiors, and all he had to do in return was get her a copy of the video filmed by Hidaka, Akira. Doi thought that was hardly a price to pay to ultimately save their clan, and they shook on it.

As dawn cracked, washing warm light over the shadow in which the two underclansmen had conducted their shady business, they took their new alliance to the break room. Other members of the Intelligence and Swordsman Divisions would be arriving in the Control Center at any moment, and they certainly didn't want to be caught looking suspicious. Further planning would still be necessary.

* * *

More than an hour or two later, Hotaru and Doi returned simultaneously to the control room. The scene was entirely different. Voices called across the way, requesting assistance from one another, and the various keyboards seemed locked in a battle of which could type fastest. Far from the silence of predawn slumber, the decibel level had risen to that of a crowded workspace.

Awashima, Seri - Scepter 4's second-in-command herself - presided over the hodgepodge of tasks with elegant control. Her uniform, while similar in design to Hotaru's own, was unique, drawing immediate attention to her rank. When she gave an order, not a single person dared resist. It was an imposing presence that made the two underclansmen feel like children in admiration.

"Where is Fushimi?" The lieutenant questioned concisely of a member of the Special Duty Corps.

Although he wasn't the one addressed, a young man in glasses stiffened, spine straight as a board when he let his eyes flick momentarily away from the computer monitor. Enomoto, Tatsuya - with his loosely-tied, long, black hair - had played the role of defenseless victim in the previous day's seminar, so he himself hadn't seen the clan's second most important glasses wearing character since several days before. Awashima's stern and demanding tone had made him tense simply for not knowing the answer, even if the question had been directed to his taller colleague currently sharing the computer.

Gotou, Ren may have been the only member of the Special Duty Corps to have properly heeded the Lieutenant's remark that there were too many squad members with offending bangs according to her taste and kept his own neatly pinned back. That didn't make him, by any means, the most standard of their companions, as everyone knew his collection of hobbies may have been stranger even than those of the Captain.

He had, however, been a part of the strike downtown, the footage of which he had meticulously been combing through with the help of Enomoto's newly acquired time lapse software. It was for this reason that Awashima's thrice asked inquiry now came to fall upon upon the guileless swordsman.

Without the startlement of his companion, Gotou gave exactly the same reply the other member who had been left out of the seminar (Fuse, Daiki) had given: "Haven't seen him, Lieutenant." Despite the certainty of his statement, the glance he briefly exchanged with Enomoto also held a trace of concern.

It wasn't like Fushimi to be late for work.

No one had either received word or noticed that anything seemed out of the ordinary with him the last time they had seen him. Still, there was no denying that he should have reported for duty nearly an hour earlier. Even when Awashima sent a clansman to the dorms to look in on him, there was no answer at his door.

While that in itself was disconcerting, the more pressing concern was the stack of reports on his desk yet to be filed in the archives. They needed to be taken to the captain for final review along with a thorough summary before being packed into boxes. Instructions for the day's work couldn't be properly delegated until the king dictated it.

Of course, every one of the members was hand-picked by Munakata specifically for their ability to behave competently in all situations, regardless of the orders they may or may not have received from above. Their lack of independent action stemmed from a deep respect for their king's path. That said, clearly no rule stood enforcing that Fushimi - or the third-in-command for that matter - was the only one who could present such information to the king.

This was the only obvious conclusion reached via silent agreement of the Special Duty Corps. When Awashima presented such a possibility to her subordinates, Hotaru glanced connivingly at her companion. Without awaiting his consent, she deemed it the perfect opportunity and offered their assistance. The lieutenant need only be assured that the two of them had in fact been at the scene to shrug her uncertain approval.

They could totally make it work out without Fushimi.

Hotaru and Doi took their assignment with no little apprehension. How were they to know what a decent report was like when no one except Fushimi had ever been expected to give one? This would only be her second time presenting anything in a formal matter before the throne, and she kicked herself for volunteering so easily. That was all unnecessary intimidation speaking, though; she knew. After all, hadn't the king the previous day been nothing but a goofball?

Steeling her nerves, she rapped thrice on the solid, wooden door.

"Do enter," a noble voice called forth, beckoning them at once intimidating and welcoming.

They hesitantly pushed open the door to find their king appeared to be expecting the visit. He sat upright at his far desk, terminal activated to his side. Clearly he knew already the results of the previous day and anticipated research would be required.

As soon as they were fully visible inside his office, Munakata greeted, "Hotaru-kun, Doi-kun, what a surprise. Please do not hesitate to come forth."

He was not surprised at all. The stack of papers half Doi's height concealed most of him, yet the perceptive eye of the king did not overlook even his lack of presence. Perhaps even the two who had chosen to come before him as substitutes was something also easily foreseen by him. Still, he eagerly looked on, awaiting with anticipation the way they would do as expected. Even though he was fully aware of their purpose there, he did not wish to deprive them of the pleasure of discovering their own fates with minimal prodding.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but show some uncanny perception. "Everyone must be working hard to send my Substitute Special Duty Corps."

There was no disdain in his manner of pronouncing the title. Rather, his eyes seemed to sparkle at the idea that he had now become powerful enough to direct two special ops teams in addition to the rest of the orderlies. It almost made Hotaru feel guilty that their message would disappoint him. For some reason she was reminded of the day in high school when she had to correct a teacher's flawed lecture. In spite of Munakata's attempt at being a welcoming audience, she froze. She had never been good at presentations.

"No need. I've already considered those," Munakata next said with a dismissive gesture.

Hotaru realized that without her realizing, Doi had tried to turn in the stack of reports. Their king, for his part, noticed even least visible of actions. But then, if he had already looked through the reports - not to mention where did he find the time to examine them, even in electronic format - what were the two of them supposed to do.

He had apparently accepted a much smaller pile of expense reports. After setting them, neatly aligned, at the corner of his desk, he looked up at his subordinates expectantly. A long silence passed between them, during which Munakata maintained impeccable composure; whereas, his unwavering stare iced over the other two like liquid nitrogen straight to the brain.

"Is that all?" He asked, at last, directing his attention fully to Hotaru. At least it seemed that way to her, indigo eyes piercing through her very soul.

"N-no," she replied hesitantly, hands clammy. Cold sweat wasn't enough to stop her, though. Forcing her way through it, Hotaru stated, "Actually, Doi may have overheard something of interest." Her confidence faded as she spoke since a tiny frown creased the captain's brow.

Doi startled as all the pressure, as well as Munakata's suddenly displeased gaze, fell to him. "That's right, Sir. At the scene yesterday, the suspects-"

Munakata interrupted, albeit politely in his own way, "There was mention of no such conversation in your report, Doi-kun. Is this to mean you have discovered additional information?"

Having found her voice, it was Hotaru who answered, "It's just a theory, you see, so it doesn't belong in a report, but you should definitely hear him out."

"All theories should be run by your superior officer for approval," Munakata recited as if to test their resolve.

"That arrogant bastard wouldn't pay attention to the team even if it supernovaed, unless it suited him."

"What is a team, Hotaru-kun?" Munakata changed the subject, turning her very words upon her.

Thinking she could predict his eventual conclusion, she responded confidently, shoulders straightened, "We are a team, Captain," referring to Scepter 4 as a whole.

In return, the captain hummed pensively. "More directly, what really is a team?"

The girl who had presumptuously asserted she would be strong enough to stand against the reasoning of a king frowned in bewilderment as she recited the definition of a dictionary, "A group organized to work together."

"Therefore, Hotaru-kun, are you proposing that I have ill arranged the Substitute Special Duty Corps?"

Tension rose from a step behind her, and for the first time she remembered there was someone else at the center of the debate. So even his lack of presence could be shaken by the prospect of having insulted the blue king? She hadn't intended to come across with that attitude at all. She respected Munakata greatly, as much as any other clansman. Once again she had her own foot stuffed way down her throat, and there was no visible way to recover.

Yet, after having set her back in her place, Munakata explained his own analogy. "Perhaps you simply aren't familiar with sporting metaphors. Truthfully, neither was I, but as King it is important to be well versed in many subjects. I believe topics such as basketball or soccer would be most fitting in this situation. Whenever a new team of any sort is formed, there will always be a learning curve. The players are not yet accustomed to each other's rhythm, for example. But what of the coach? Does he not also require some time to learn the strengths and weaknesses of his players?"

"Yes, but-"

He wouldn't allow cross-examination and continued to further his analogy. "A coach without a team is nothing. Similarly, a team without a coach is no better off. Just as it is the job of the coach to lead the team to success, it is also the responsibility of the team to make the coach succeed. Would you not agree, Hotaru-kun?"

"It would be one thing if we were talking about his vague commands or lack of leadership, Captain," Hotaru protested in spite of the elaborate comparison. "But he is deliberately refusing to be told this information."

"As am I," the king put a harsh end to the discussion with a somewhat condescending tone. "If you cannot find a way to make Fushimi-kun accept your intel, it wasn't valuable enough to share in the first place."

Neither dared argue with the finality in his voice, and they left the office empty handed, save for a stack of reports which needed to be taken to the archives.

* * *

Dawn had long since come and go. Sometimes morning would sneak up on Kusanagi and pass right by him. That was the curse of trying to run a legitimate business on the edge of the underworld, particularly a bar. He "worked" at night, yet more often than not, other aspects of the job carried over into the day. For example, when a friend of theirs found herself in the dead middle of a drug run gone sour, he would spend a couple hours on the phone with various contacts just to make sure no one would come after her because of it. He vaguely considered sending the boys out to take down the whole ring. There was a time when that would have been the instant reaction. With Mikoto gone their new, young, king was gradually developing a different approach.

Instead, then, he ensured that the victim in question would be protected from average gangsters from a source outside the realm of kings. Afterward he thought maybe he should pay her a visit. The story Shouhei had shared got him more than a little concerned, especially since Anna had yet to come home. Even Kusanagi had a lot of trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that their little princess could take perfectly fine care of herself now. In fact, she was probably far stronger than any of them.

It didn't mean she was ready; that was what made him worried.

Anyhow, the hospital wasn't far out of his way on his path to his condo. Since Shouhei was also worried about what had happened, he and his pal Bandou came along to accompany Anna back to the bar. Totsuka had been laid up at that place so many times in the past that Kusanagi knew his way around it without difficulty. The thought still made him a bit melancholic, though.

Whereas the two young men with him were shocked by the scene in Hayashi, Azami's hospital room, the eldest let out a relieved chuckle. Bodies were strewn about like a slumber party. If there hadn't been auras or clans involved, they would have just been a bunch of kids that stayed up all night chatting. On the other hand, the Red King in a Scepter 4 jacket squished onto the same couch with her black and blue vanguard was a bit disconcerting after all.

Everyone expected Yata and Fushimi to fight, though. It had been a long time since anyone had seen them end a day in peace. Even so, they had settled into the farthest corners of the room. For some reason, he couldn't help but peer down at Fushimi's sleeping face. For someone who had become so spiteful and grumpy, he sure did have an innocent, tranquil sleeping face.

The two men who had come with the bar master started to make a fuss over everything that he had appreciated about the room which transcended clan boundaries, rousing the peaceful group with their sound. Fushimi's eyes opened slowly like he needed to sleep quite a few more hours, but his expression quickly switched to something startled.

He hadn't remembered falling asleep in the small armchair anymore than he was aware the sun had come out. Aside from Azami who was stirring in the bed, a list was automatically compiling in Fushimi's mind of just how many red clansmen had surrounded him. They were by the window, blocking the door, and the unbelievably powerful bartender was only inches from his face. These facts reached even into his drowsy consciousness, and he was quick to reach his feet with a hand on the hilt of his saber.

"Easy Fushimi-kun," Kusanagi calmed, taking a step back to give the Blue some space, "you're not in any danger."

That was true. Kusanagi wasn't the type to make false promises. Even if some of the people there might have fought him on the spot, the three who had all the say in the clan were currently inclined to let him leave safely. Once all his senses had returned and he had concluded this, the clock caught his attention. It was already 9:30. The slightly panicked feeling came right back. He had to get to headquarters faster than immediately, since he was supposed to have reported to Munakata already an hour and a half ago.

As quickly as he could, Fushimi pulled his boots back on, grabbed his PDA from the table, and weaved through the red boys to where Yata had been sleeping. That boy had already left the couch, but he needed to retrieve the rest of his uniform from their king. When he grabbed the collar, though, she clung tighter to it in her sleep. He tugged again, but she wasn't going to let go. It was an impass—he either had to leave the jacket or wake her up. The way she had contentedly drawn it around her shoulders and up to her chin made her look like she was still only seven.

He let go. Awashima was already going to kill him for being late; he might as well show up without his uniform also.

As he was hurrying toward the exit, Azami called out to him, "Fushimi, thanks for coming."

Even though he had been desperate enough to kill for her a few hours ago, he responded with a dismissive wave goodbye, hardly even glancing back at her. He didn't make any contact at all with Yata on his way out, which left both of them confused by his behavior on all sides of extreme.

* * *

So many whispers hadn't accompanied Fushimi into the Fourth Annex since the day he had joined as "Homra's Traitor." Apparently, word had spread around, and every single clansman had their own suspicion on what he had been up to. He barely spared time to scoff to himself and kept walking. Hadn't they all been late or skipped work entirely far more often than himself? Foregoing any part of a typical morning routine like brushing his teeth or showering, he went straight to his desk in the main workroom.

"Fushimi," the firm voice that belonged to only one heartless woman in the world scolded furiously, "where on Earth have you been?"

He didn't answer. There was no time for that. Besides, he had no obligation to justify himself to her. What mattered far more was that all the papers he had finished throughout the night had disappeared from his desk. Shoving aside cans, trash, and jars of pens, he searched all over the table top.

In response to Awashima, he questioned while opening drawers, "Where are the reports?"

"We looked all over this place for you and even called you. Where was your PDA?" The lieutenant also didn't reply according to what was asked.

Having been reminded of his phone, he dug it from his pocket and slammed it on the desk. "It's dead. Where are the reports?"

"When you weren't in your room, Hotaru offered to turn them in for you," she revealed. "Where were you?"

He stood up then and actually looked at her. They had turned the papers in for him? Was that how things would always proceed if he wasn't there? More likely there was some internal, ulterior motive for doing him the favor. Even so, he no longer felt the need to rush.

"Personal matter," he clarified. When he turned his attention away from her, she made a "humph" sound, realizing that she wouldn't get a better answer from him than that.

"The captain is still expecting you to present to him this morning."

* * *

Fushimi was doing good to have knocked on the door to Munakata's office shortly before 11 o'clock. For this he should probably have considered himself somewhat lucky, but the young man didn't believe in chance. The king, who beckoned him in promptly, sat at his desk positioned far back in the elongated room. This, of course, gave one the impression that their every step was being scrutinized during the interminable trek from the door to his presence.

The ever-present, mild smile on his face and piercing eyes added to the intense feeling of inferiority when he said something chastising in a pleasant way, "Fushimi-kun, you've arrived."

Seeing as there was no _need_ to state something so obvious, the subordinate realized he was being passively reprimanded and turned his gaze toward the window with a sigh. Munakata was subtly making a big show of his tardiness by exaggerating the acts of repositioning the papers on his desk, adjusting his glasses, and leaning forward to rest his chin on his knuckles.

"Reliable as always, are you not, Team Leader?" The man commended him with the condescending eyes of a god. "I never doubted for a moment you would come; although, you have caused somewhat of a delay. Shall we begin?"

 _What kind of mind game was this reverse psychology?_ Fushimi wondered with a disgusted expression. He realized Munakata's gaze was lower than his face, directed rather at chest level. Instantly, he felt as if he were being judged for not wearing his jacket. Even if the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, wasn't that enough? All of the captain's little signals of disapproval—it was all enough.

Thinking, _I know you're trying to convey that your time is more important than mine, but I also see the outline of a puzzle peeking out from under your files. You had nothing to do anyhow,_ Fushimi clicked his tongue and muttered, "You didn't have to wait for me."

"What's that?" Munakata asked, simply to prompt him to speak up.

"Nothing."

Acting as if he would let it go, the captain actually responded to what he had originally pretended not to hear. "Since this is your case, Fushimi-kun, the entire team is anticipating your orders of how to proceed."

Fushimi did his best to ignore the scheming grin of the captain and brush aside the pressure he was deliberately heaping on his shoulders by getting right to business, "The Mouri brothers have been in the system for decades. Their father was one of the original Beta level strains to ever cause troubles for the former Blue King. Both parents seem to have died in a car accident."

The one-time Red Clansman had already activated the company-provided tablet computer where all his information was kept and flipped through it rather than maintain eye contact with the king. There were things that he knew clearly but refused to speak because that was "how it should be." For example, the picture of the car wreck found in an old newspaper article, indicated the parents had actually been done away with by the Gold Clan identically to what had become of Kushina, Anna's family. One did not speak poorly of the Gold King in Scepter 4, however, not even to mention it gave these siblings one hell of a reason to despise authority. Fushimi just skipped over that and continued.

"The eldest brother was raised in and out of a hospital." That was the 'facility' run by the former Blue and Gold Clans that had effectively been a prison and science lab for strains. Since Fushimi had played a role in destroying that place, he also refrained from mentioning this.

"He was fifteen when his younger brother was also recognized as being enabled. When their parents were killed," _oops, he let it slip a little,_ "the second son was also admitted to the same hospital, while the youngest went to live with their grandparents. Both of the older siblings broke out of the hospital several times before it was closed due to a severe fire, and they both have significant criminal records in theft, trespassing, and assault.

"They have been registered but on the loose since the closure of the hospital. The youngest has neither a previous record nor been registered, as before this incident, he was publicly thought to be without supernatural abilities..."

It continued on and on in that fashion. Fushimi stood before the desk of the king expounding for twenty minutes without receiving even a blink of feedback. Many people would complain about his stoic mannerisms, calling his never ending grin unnerving. For his part, however, Fushimi had known one man far more indifferent with his feelings, and another whose smile was more intensely ever-present. Munakata was just one big facade on top of another. A facade was much easier for Fushimi to handle than sincerity.

Just when the first tinge of dizziness from standing in place too long began to eat away at his vision, the captain broke in with his first comment. "And why did you let them get away?"

Having just explained that very thing, Fushimi grumbled while he replied, "It became impossible to ensure the safety of civilians in the surrounding areas and also bring the strains into custody. The senior members of the team deemed it necessary to let them leave."

"Impossible, Fushimi-kun?" The king's response was that of a teacher who had allowed a student to express flawed reasoning so as to give a lesson. "Are we not the sword of justice that must prevail in these situations regardless of the odds? Do we not have a larger, more powerful force than three strains? Have you not been properly trained how to handle diverse situations?"

Fushimi allowed such hollow words to pass by and then expounded, "The youngest brother became a live, radioactive bomb."

As king, Munakata could not be startled, but his back straightened upon hearing that revelation. Eyes slightly widened as if clearly understanding the weight of what his officer just described and at last showing interest. Still, he probed for clarification, eliminating less serious possibilities by playing Devil's advocate.

"He was strapped to a nuclear bomb?"

"No Sir," Fushimi countered. "He himself became the bomb. It is now clear that the third Mouri son is also an enabled person with potentially very dangerous, psychokinetic abilities. Furthermore, it is believed that person was also the one to interfere with our previous mission, the Mirage Strain Case, using radiation."

Even though Fushimi maintained a formalistic way of speaking throughout his report, Munakata knew that 'it is believed' really meant, 'I saw him both times.' The boy had stopped intentionally, as if to give the king a moment to draw a conclusion of some sort, and the latter had instantly caught on to what was being implied.

"You believe they may be working together?"

"Yes, and forming an organization. At both scenes was also found this logo." Tapping on the screen of his tablet, Fushimi adeptly emailed the image to the captain's computer through their secure server. While Munakata pulled it up, Fushimi added in summary, "We are up against something big."

"Hoh," the man hummed in wonder while adjusting his glasses to get a better look at the image. "What do these symbols mean?"

"I am still working on deciphering it, Sir."

The idea of this puzzle intrigued Munakata, and he immediately retrieved a notepad from a drawer to record his thoughts. This surprised the younger officer, especially when he was dismissed with a shoo-ing gesture.

"Continue doing your best," Munakata said rather insincerely as he immersed himself in the picture of a grafitti that somewhat resembled the style of a mark of the yakuza or a motorcycle gang.

Fushimi blinked once, taking in his king's unusual enthusiasm and then turned to leave. In the hallway his face stretched into an uncharacteristically obvious yawn, accompanied by a small moan. At most he had slept four hours that morning. He thought, if the king was busying himself with the details of the operation, he would like to take a nap. He stopped by his desk to gather a few things and possibly acquire a simple task he could work on from his room.

Unfortunately, a nerdy lab tech was standing there with her slutty, bourbon hair, leaning on his desk in her white coat that had been stained more than once. He would have to remember never to touch that side again. Her posture indicated she had come to redeem whatever it was she intended to extract from him for having done his work for him that morning. How manipulative. Having never asked to owe her a favor, he didn't intend to ever pay it back. For this reason, he glanced to his phone that had been left there to charge as if he might find important information on it.

"Fushimi," she began to speak, deliberately leaving out any terms of respect that the potpourri team had so quickly taken to calling him. She did this to anger him without knowing that he was actually more irritated by the addition of titles such as "Senpai" or "Team Leader."

"We don't like it anymore than you do, but for the duration of this case, we must report everything to you."

He heard her words, but he wasn't really listening. Even though he hadn't posted anything to the dark net forum since the first time, another notification of reply had come in. His mind was instantly filled with conflicting emotions after the previous day's interactions with that Kanra person. Both frightened and enticed, he clicked the link while Hotaru continued speaking.

"Are you even listening? Doi actually has something really important to tell you, and all you do is play on your phone. What kind of commanding officer does that?"

To add force to her complaint, she reached forward and swatted the device from his hands. It clattered to the table only because he had been too unnerved by its contents to see her coming. Now, he shot her a death glare for daring to touch one of his electronics with hands that had also disected creatures while she stared down at the message in shock.

[If I were you, I wouldn't go anywhere alone for a while~] -Kanra

"Wha—?" Hotaru began to ask a question but was too bewildered to form words immediately.

Quicker on the rebound, Fushimi snatched up his PDA before she got the chance to read previous messages and scornfully changed the subject. "How does Doi ever expect to stand before the Gold Clan if he's afraid of me? You're impeding his goal by doing his work. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a lot to catch up on."

They both knew that Fushimi didn't have a shred of sincere care for whether Doi reached his goal or not. The remark was only made to further evade being the one considered responsible for his team. Hotaru was also fairly certain he wouldn't have even said that much had he not been forced to divert her attention from himself. His personality was absolutely disgusting. He even brushed right past her, without giving her any opportunity to mention what she knew would make his job a lot easier, or even mock his tardiness.

However, Munakata had found some sort of potential in this one. He had told her that it was just as much their challenge to accept him as a leader as it was a challenge for him to accept them as a team. She had effectively been ordered to make this work. For these reasons, she did her best not to take his words personally as so many before her had. She balled her hands into fists but didn't chase after him immediately. He certainly seemed to be up to something suspicious, and she decided she would figure it out, starting with this person Kanra.

* * *

 _ **Robin: let us extend an official welcome. Thank you for your concern which was quite motivational. Can we just say, this was quite literally the FIRST time anyone has ever cared about a story so much that they wanted to VERIFY it would continue. We love you.**_

 _ **Hopefully the slightly longer than normal chapter somehow makes up for the fact that we promised to return shortly after November and then didn't. As always Arait assures you that she in no way believes that excuses such as "life" ever acquit one of their privilege of the duty to write. Nevertheless, here is a small update in her life.**_

 _ **1\. Thinking abilities came to a screeching halt. Study, creativity, basic sentence structure all ceased.**_

 _ **2\. Seizures started.**_

 _ **3\. In trying to determine the cause of the seizures, we discovered the presence of a brain tumor. You know you're really sick when your body says, "huh? a tumor? screw it, we've got bigger problems." Because apparently Arait's brain doesn't care at all that there's a foreign object the size of a quarter in it.**_

 _ **4\. Decided the seizures were caused by medicine. Took away the medication, left Arait in withdrawls for two months, and said, "See how well you fare like that." Unfortunately, the things written during that time period should probably never be read. By anyone. Ever.**_

 _ **Kateracks continuously encouraged Arait to continue writing and pull herself back together. For the time being new medication has been administered, and that is the case. Might still be hallucinating, though, since Arait actually wrote that Gotou had a collection of "boobies" instead of "hobbies" (shout out to Case Files of Blue "Archive E"!).**_

 _ **Anyhow, our sincere hope is to not have any further similar interruptions. If nothing else, Arait now has a deep, newfound appreciation for what it took for Azami to clean herself up. Please continue to follow this story.**_

 _ **Btw, still no one has figured out who Kanra is. Free reviews are still the prize.**_


	9. Dangerous Streets - Part 1

_**Oh my goodness! As if we hadn't already caused substantial delay! Arait's tablet decided to delete the file A Growing World - Master. Thankfully, we keep plenty of backups in various locations, but quite a bit of this newest chapter is lost and gone forever. Since Arait wrote that part under a sudden burst of inspiration, she is greatly struggling to recall how to recreate it properly. That may take some time, so we figured in the mean time you all might appreciate at least reading what we were able to scrape back together from emails exchanged. **_

* * *

Having somehow found the proper excuse to escape the self-righteous criticism of one redheaded scientist, Fushimi barricaded himself in his dorm. He had brought with him a file of data that needed to be digitized which would take him one mindless minute to finish. That way he could still claim he had worked from his room regardless of how much he might accomplish afterwards.

Before sitting at his personal desk, he emptied his pockets of everything that might be uncomfortable to sit on, including his phone which held the notes he took at the hospital that morning. Those words he had typed early that morning flooded back into his mind, and his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. In the moment itself, with the nurses in the room, he had been forced into the passive role of spectator, unable to change anything. She had called his name, and he hadn't come in time. _Powerless, incapable._

Instead of getting control over his thoughts, he redirected the self-anger into his work; although, it wasn't the work Scepter 4 had assigned to him. _If there was one thing he could do, it was find them._ Without even realizing his own actions, Fushimi had slid his chair in close to the computer and activated their video surveillance manager. _Whatever low-lifes had hurt Hayashi would be sorry they were ever born._ There weren't really many street cameras in the forest along the coast, so it didn't make much sense for him to start out there. He easily recalled he had noted that she kept insisting the last thing she remembered was being in bed.

JUNGLE buildings definitely had video monitoring. Their King Hisui, Nagare would never stand being unable to observe every detail of the conflict he stirred up or those who unwittingly enacted it on his behalf. Even though Fushimi knew well better than to poke the online, sleeping beast, he concluded he could get in and out of their system unnoticed if he was careful and quick. It was only a starting point anyhow.

Without even considering the consequences or the kind of statement he would be making to the rest of the clan, his fingers moved according to their own memory. After circumventing the annex's tight firewall, he proxied onto servers the world over which would lose his electronic footprint in the tangled mess of ip addresses. Sure it could be tracked back to him, but by then he would already have what he needed. The Green Clan only had a couple of brick and mortar locations, and Fushimi was pretty sure he knew which one Hayashi bunked at. Then it was just a matter of rewinding to a time with valuable activity.

What he saw after scrolling back was not useful in the least. As foretold, Hayashi appeared in the footage in sweatpants and a T-shirt, seeming ready for bed. After speaking with when some fellow clansmen for a few moments, she disappeared, got herself dressed, and left with them. There were no signs of conflict or foul play. She simply went with them like everything was normal.

Switching cameras, he followed their movements until the group was lost by the limited surveillance in the mountains. Four JUNGLE players entered the mountains; three returned. _Could it be as simple as a mission gone wrong_? The possibility seemed valid, except that none of them appeared concerned by their missing comrade. Rather, they looked almost pleased with themselves.

Grabbing a snapshot of each of their faces, Fushimi left the footage rolling and switched over to Scepter 4's records. None of them were in the annual registration documents of the green clan. Neither could he find them along the lists of enabled persons to have caused trouble with the law or been detained at the annex. That definitely meant they weren't of high caliber, not even ranked equally to Hayashi.

The blue clicked his tongue and rubbed at his tired eyes behind the glasses. Wasn't it just like JUNGLE to send low level clansmen to do their dirty work? Revenge on an expendable player was meaningless. Frustrated, he set that aside and picked up the file that was his legitimate work.

* * *

An urgent knocking awoke Fushimi from a nap he hadn't realized he had taken. He lifted his head from his desk, stiff but still groggy, grumbling about being disturbed. At the same time, he knew the only reason anyone would knock at his door was if the special forces were being deployed. Knowing that, he started to stand but a face on his screen distracted him.

Having left the camera footage rolling on the desktop while he worked on other things - and slept - it had moved forward in real-time. Now, at the same location Hayashi had passed through hours before, a suspicious man had stumbled into view. He limped like an injured man and had blood on his face.

Instantly Fushimi knew it must be the driver who crashed the car.

The pounding on the wooden frame of his door intensified, and a workmate called out, "Fushimi-san!"

"What?" He snapped in return. Then, irritated by the persistence, he muttered, "Can't you wait a second?"

That's all the time he needed to take a screenshot of the man's face and save it to his PDA. He was already reaching for the door when the response came from the other side. "Someone's died."

Of its own accord, Fushimi's hand hesitated with a shiver. That message had been delivered to his dorm room once before. He could still picture clearly Akiyama's grim face at four in the morning. _Although the details are unknown, a red clansman has been killed._ Even if he didn't fancy himself fond of Homra's one-time vassal Totsuka, Tatara, he couldn't help the apprehension that came over him at hearing similar news.

He quickly pushed away needless thoughts and opened his door. This time Hidaka was the messenger sent to retrieve him. Despite acknowledging the serious nature of the situation, the clansman didn't appear in the slightest to be distressed. That was a good sign.

Without waiting to be asked, Hidaka expounded, "There's been an incident. A strain's body was found in an alley. The lieutenant wants you to meet up with a team at the entrance to investigate."

"Isn't there anyone else who works here?" He grumbled as he went to shut off the computer and grab anything he might need.

Not able to hear his muffled words fully, Hidaka questioned, "What's that?"

"Nothing," Fushimi lied and scooped up his saber which had been leaning against the wall. "I'm just tired."

The taller man laughed like he was embarrassed and lightheartedly commented, "That's right. I heard you had a busy night?"

A glare shut him up regarding that matter; although, his suspicions remained clear in his smile. As the younger passed by on his way out, he showed his disapproval with a click of his tongue. A few steps down the hall, he turned back to Hidaka who still stood in the doorway.

"Are you coming?" He inquired, not because he cared one way or the other. It was logistics.

"Aw nah, I've got a back log of work to catch up on from yesterday," he answered, already backing away with a wave.

Shrugging, Fushimi made his way to headquarter's front gate. Just inside the fence Gotou waited by a transport vehicle with Yoshida from the Substitute Special Duty Corps as well as half a dozen orderlies. All of them gawked at him momentarily, showing up for duty in just his blouse and vest. With the sleeves rolled up and the collar upright he still had the same tyrannical appearance, though. His coworker knew him well enough to direct everyone's attention away from his missing uniform coat before it irritated him, barking procedures to them.

They were about to board the transport when someone called desperately through the courtyard, "There you are! Saruhiko!"

A frown carved quickly onto Fushimi's face since no one at Scepter 4 would really use his given name. The shout had come from outside the gate, and he turned toward it. He recognized that voice. It looked like Akiyama and his partner Benzai were restraining someone.

"Saruhiko, it's me!" The tall, young man had wavy, brown hair and a beautiful face. He was dressed in an oversized, argyle sweater, corduroy pants, and oxford shoes. Fushimi slumped when he realized who was there: Dokite, Kory.

"Do you know him?" Gotou inquired curiously, the other clansmen watching closely behind him.

"It's no one of importance," Fushimi grumbled, having decided unilaterally to ignore his visitor.

Kory didn't give up so easily, though, pleading, "Tell them to help me, Saruhiko. You're important here, so if you say so, they'll do it."

Benzai raised his eyebrows towards Akiyama who, as the top ranking clansman beneath Fushimi, had adequate seniority to give orders whenever he so chose. He took the backhanded insult with a deep breath and continued to handle the situation calmly. The first matter of priority was to keep dangerous threats away from the Annex, so there was no way he'd let a beta level strain just burst in.

Then, he questioned along with a thumb gesture, "What makes you think he'll help you?"

Slightly intrigued by the strange behavior of someone who usually stayed as far from Scepter 4 as possible, Fushimi made his way to the gate while Kory answered, "With all the history between us, we may as well be friends."

Disgusted, Fushimi contradicted starkly through the rod iron bars. "No."

After sulking a moment from the harsh response, the hipster strain insisted, "You haven't even heard my request yet."

Rather than accord Kory any gratification, Fushimi also looked to Akiyama, expecting he could present a decent explanation. The coworker didn't let him down, describing succinctly, "He claims his life is in danger and wishes to seek our protection."

Kory clearly didn't think that was enough information because he added on his own behalf, "These guys, you're either with them or you're dead meat. They're killing solo artists like me."

Of course, the picky boy that he was, Fushimi corrected, "You're not an artist." Art takes practice and skill. The crimes that person committed were mostly emotionally based and powered by the Dresden slate.

Contrarily, Benzai had a valid reply. "Who are 'these guys'?"

"I dunno, Man, they're like a gang of Supes, military style." The three exchanged a knowing glance, even tossing the look back to Gotou whose hand nervously moved for the security of his sword. This guy must have been spooked by the same group who had killed that other strain downtown.

"I know what those looks are for," he interrupted their silent conversation. "They killed Stethy. News is all over town already."

"Stethy?"

Gotou explained, "The street name for a strain enabled with hyperacusia. He was relatively peaceful, having long ago resolved to use his powers for good as a cardiologist. We were just on our way to investigate."

"They probably wanted him to open safes," Kory agreed, "but when he refused to join them, they killed him."

"We're fully aware of the matter and handling it," Fushimi determined, "so what do you want?"

"Come on, with my skills, you know I'm one of their targets. You've got the facilities; don't you have some sort of witness protection program?"

Benzai laughed quietly at the idea; whereas, Fushimi rudely pointed out, "Witness protection programs are for _witnesses_ with information valuable to the prosecution who have testified in court."

"Can't you cut me some sort of deal?"

Akiyama, who had been pondering seriously how they should proceed mentioned, "It wouldn't serve justice to just send someone away to be victimized."

"But how do we know he isn't already a part of this so-called 'gang of Supes' sent here to infiltrate and disable our network?"

"I'm not!" Kory reassured.

"Even if you aren't working for anyone, we can't allow someone with your abilities any opportunity for access to our system. There's no telling what you might coincidentally remember for the future."

"Do you really think I'd do something like that?" He sounded offended and innocent.

All of the Special Duty Corp members responded in unison, "Yes."

As if having suddenly thought of an idea, Benzai stated, "There is an available holding cell. That would sufficiently restrain his aura."

"You can't imprison me. I haven't done anything."

Aside from the fact that he was a repeat offender who had certainly caused enough trouble to be detained arbitrarily, Fushimi wasn't exactly concerned about the legal rights of that guy. He was annoying. Therefore, with a conniving smirk, he concluded, "That'll have to do for now. I'll take care of the details when I get back."

He walked away then so as not to leave place for dissension, joining Gotou back at the truck. Of course, Kory continued to protest in shock. That wasn't at all what he hoped for when he requested their aid. But like he had said, whatever Fushimi decided, they would do. Akiyama was already reciting the speech of rights they gave every prisoner while arresting them.

In the end, Kory was silenced by Benzai's ultimatum. "It's either this, or we let you go."

The strain's breath caught in his throat, and he became docile to allow them to take him into custody. Still, he could be heard along the walk. "No, don't let me go. But please be kind with me. It's not like I have super strength or..."

Fushimi clicked his tongue and closed the passenger door behind him to drown out the noise. As Gotou started up the engine and pulled out the drive, the message left on the dark net forum came back to Fushimi's mind. _If I were you, I wouldn't go anywhere alone for a while._ Whoever that person was, they knew the city's dirt, even before anyone else did. Perhaps teaming up really would be necessary for the time being.

* * *

Bare toes touched cold tile and Azami winced as it sent a shock up to her ankle until the skin adjusted to the change. She scooted forward on the edge of the bed a little more until her foot rested flat and she could put a little weight on it. _No problem; this was good progress._ Glancing over her shoulder to check out the window into the hallway once more and make sure no nurse was in sight, she proceeded.

Her other leg slid over the side past the bedrail, and her toes touched down beside the other. _No pain. Good._ With a deep breath, she slowly lowered herself off of the mattress. All went well until the full scope of her weight hit her injured hip and that one side unwillingly buckled, sending her straight toward the floor.

At the same time, the door to the room swung open and a voice other than hers cried, "Shit!"

Halfway to the ground her body stopped its descent as an arm encircled her waist, and her face met the cushion of a shoulder.

" _What_ the _hell_ do you _think_ you're _doing_?" Yata ground out between clenched teeth to keep his voice from cracking. It wouldn't have mattered—his beet red face was a dead giveaway. All he could do at that point was hope he looked more angry than embarrassed.

"If I can get up and walk maybe they'll let me leave," she mumbled sheepishly and a bit defeated into his shirt.

Yata sighed in exasperation and hauled them both up, using the bedrail for support. Once upright, Azami hoisted herself partially back onto the bed, trying not to have to acknowledge his assistance in the process.

"You've only been in the hospital one day, dumbass. Take it easy so you don't bust your stitches already," Yata scolded while he helped lift her legs up.

"I'm dying of boredom."

"I was only gone two hours! You can't die that fast!"

The Green Girl crossed her arms sulkily, glanced up at him for the first time, and her brows creased at his appearance: a striped shirt under a deep red jumper-type-thing and red high tops with his usual beanie. He looked like some confused mechanic.

"What are you wearing?"

Yata glanced down at his attire and then gave her a confused look, not sure what answer she was wanting.

"I don't like it," she said simply.

The boy frowned at her audacity and rebutted, "You're one to criticize! Look at what _you're_ wearing!"

"Yeah, well, I don't have a choice right now."

To this he replied, "I had to change because my other clothes were _muddy_." He emphasized the last descriptor clearly as if to remind her that it was _her_ fault he was now dressed this way.

She looked thoughtful for a moment at his words and then muttered more to herself, "Aw, now I'm gonna be itchy…" After all, she had pretty much fallen on top of Yata and all of his weird clothes.

"No…" He began a reply and then trailed off, looking away. Her questioning gaze drilled into him until he finally continued, "The sewer…Kusanagi-san still had that detergent."

The girl's face took on surprise. "He kept it all this time?"

Yata shifted. "In case you decided to stop by again…but then I ran out of mine and I found it at the bar so…"

She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest, trying to suppress a smirk. "So you bummed it off of him? That old, it probably isn't as effective anymore, you know?"

Yata glared at her, then turned and walked toward the door while grumbling to himself, presumably giving a reminder that it most definitely would _not_ be okay to hit a girl in a hospital bed. He had thrown something in a chair there when he had seen her start to fall, and he picked it up, stalked back over to her, and flopped a pile of objects into her lap.

"That's what else I was doing."

Azami sifted through the items—a couple issues of a popular manga and several games for a handheld console which was also included. She graced him with a small smile of appreciation.

"Thanks." Then her smirk returned. "Are you sure you want to give me the chance to beat all your high scores?"

Yata breathed out a short laugh through his nose as if that was the most absurd idea he had ever heard, even after the times he had seen her rock the arcade. "You can try."

She glanced up when he stepped to the foot of her bed and then paused as if debating internally, shifting awkwardly on his feet and looking back at her. She cocked her head at his movements and inquired, "What are you going to do? Just stare at my pretty face in this paper gown or do you want something to read?"

Yata balked at her words and made unintelligible responses for a moment, glancing quickly at the door like a startled animal. He couldn't be alone with her all day, could he? She had already fallen on top of him once in her state of…undress. Eventually, he seemed to come to some sort of decision.

"I-I h-have t-to…t-to…do some work…for Anna, yeah!"

Azami raised her eyebrows in a knowing way, recalling the evening before when, at some point and for a reason she couldn't remember, HOMRA's vanguard had decided he was going to investigate the matter at hand—in his traditional Yata way, of course. Anna had replied quietly but resolutely, "Misaki, we don't know who is responsible." That seemed to put an end to his plans until his King gave him the go-ahead. He didn't have any business to do for her, and the Green Girl knew it.

"Oh yeah? What would that be?" she pressed, not because she cared if he stayed all day or not, but because innocently torturing him amused her, and she wanted to see what phony excuse he came up with.

"I have to…uh…feed the fish!"

"The fish?"

"Yeah! It's a big job for our little princess. She needs the help of her knight!"

Azami chuckled a little at his expense. "Well then, sir knight, you better not leave the royal fish waiting."

* * *

 ** _Welcome back technopathic, hipster strain Kory! Please look forward to part 2, including the scene of Stethy's death and a ruthless interrogation of Fushimi's_** _ **least**_ ** _favorite person._**


	10. Dangerous Streets - Part 2

_**Huzzah! I did it! I managed to rewrite the party of the chapter that my computer deleted without being disappointed by the way it turned out the second time! Thank you so much for your patience!**_

* * *

The Scepter 4 emergency vehicle pulled off the main street, parking near yellow, caution tape that had cordoned off both ends of the block. Gotou joined a group of Metro Police Department officers who, having just completed the seminar on how to deal with cases involving persons enabled with superpowers, followed the instructions to keep civilians away while not interfering with the scene in any way. The clansman of the Special Duty Corps willing accepted an overview of details including witness statements the police had to provide; whereas, for his part, Fushimi slipped beneath the tape without a word.

As far as alleys were concerned, it wasn't the worst. There was both sufficient ambient light as well as street lamps for after dusk. The concrete buildings were not vandalized or in significant disrepair. Located somewhere between the quiet of suburban life and the bustle of downtown, the neighborhood was calm considering how near it was to low income, high-crime areas. Hard working people who were trying to improve their life and the lives of others took up residence there. They didn't settle because they all kept their fingers crossed that one day they could move some place safer, either for or thanks to their children.

This was the residence of the hyperacusic enabled strain known on the streets as Stethy due to his charitable habit of providing low-cost, specialized cardiologic care to the underprivileged. As a superpowered individual he was the rare case that gave Scepter 4 no trouble at all, even following up annually to renew the legal registration without being reminded. How bothersome that he had to be the one out of them all to die.

The scene wasn't particularly gruesome, so Fushimi didn't pay much heed to it, instead making his way directly to a black bag laying in the road. The plastic was stretched crosswise through the path and zipped from end to end. Kneeling beside it, Fushimi pulled it open to take a look at the body contained within.

Bruises and swelling were the prominent feature, even more so than the blood. Multiple parts of the face had changed to a dark, purple color or risen above the rest of the skin. Under the shirt were several more. Clearly the victim had taken a severe beating before his death, likely as the group of rebels tried to "persuade" him to join them.

Fushimi carefully handled the dead man with a clean handkerchief so as not to disturb any evidence. Brain matter mixed with coagulating plasma around a single, elevated wound on the forehead. Based on the pattern of blood over his face and down his shirt, the cause of death has been a single shot to the head. It was very execution style. The victim had not agreed to join the criminals, so they had disposed of him.

Representatives of the local coroner's office returned from their truck with a gurney to facilitate removal of the body. Gotou intercepted them, however, explaining how in this case it was the responsibility of Scepter 4 agents to examine all matters pertaining to psychokinetics. It was a speech he was used to pronouncing, and an audience he had never spoken to before. Somehow the prospect of performing their own autopsy left him a bit nauseated.

 _There were no signs that the foul play involved the use of superpowers,_ Fushimi concluded, stepping away from the dead man. Keeping the body away from independent firms must have simply been a formality. Evidence was lacking for another domain as well: it did not appear this alley was the actual scene of the crime. For the cause of death, there was a remarkable lack of blood splatter on both the walls and the ground.

 _So they had killed him elsewhere, maybe even their hideout. Then they brought the victim here, to his own house. To a calm, peaceful place where people knew and liked him._ Fushimi pondered this as he looked around the scene itself. Clearly their goal had been to make a statement. Deciding he had likely found their message, he stopped at a part of the house's concrete wall.

In paint that was still damp was the mark of these strains. A golden arm in a silver crown flexed it's muscles. In its hand was a blue sword wound with ivy. This emblem sat upon a dull, gray shield which was consumed by fire. It was symbolic of the seven kings. Every color was represented, to a degree artistically representing the role of each. They had even left a colorless background. It was all there.

What the picture meant was somewhat harder to discern. The secret lie in the giant symbol for peace crossing out the whole design. It was red, like one of those "No Smoking" or "No Parking" signs.

Gotou stepped up beside Fushimi and stared at the graffiti along with him for a moment. Graffiti, Fushimi really couldn't think of anything better to call it than that, but it truly was too intricate a design to belong to any ordinary street gang or group of rebels. He certainly wasn't about to validate the work by calling it art. So graffiti it would remain.

"The strain is in the transport. There really isn't much to examine here, is there?" His companion made small talk by referring to the lack of evidence at the scene.

"Nothing at all," the superior agreed shortly.

"Then again, what can you expect when the murder was committed elsewhere?"

Fushimi was almost startled that the person who constantly looked like he was half asleep had been able to draw that conclusion on his own. Especially someone who had been an unemployed freeloader before his time at the annex. On the other hand, with his strange tastes, maybe it shouldn't have been unexpected for him to take a particular interest in death.

He tried to cover his brief surprise with a dull, "Let's go."

Gotou was already engrossed. Even though Fushimi had turned to leave, he remained at the wall peering at the design. "What an interesting kamon."

That last word paused Fushimi in his departure. He was familiar with the concept of a design belonging to a specific family. _That man_ had teased his wife about continuing to use that of her parents for her company's letterhead rather than adopting his - that was, on the fluke that both of them were at the house on the same day. Kamon were also simple designs, however. He found himself intrigued by what Gotou, a man with extremely exotic tastes, could find so interesting about the design.

"Kamon?" He questioned.

"If I recall correctly, I remember seeing something like this in Europe called a crest. It was an ancient thing from back when their land was divided into hundreds of kingdoms. Like kamon, but elegant like this. They were used to represent loyalty to one's clan."

As soon as he said it, the crest's meaning became perfectly clear to both of them. The strains had formed their own clan, a clan which promoted that peace could only be had by the destruction of the structure of kings. While they returned to base, pondering the new understanding, several notifications came unnoticed to Fushimi's phone.

[I haven't heard back from you yet. Sure hope my advice got to you in time~ ;P]

[jk. Hey I found another one of those pictures for you! It's trending on twitter.]

[You probably want to block that site before word spreads around, Scepter 4's No. 3]

-Kanra

* * *

Since Suoh, Mikoto's break out, the prison area of the fourth annex's Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau had been rebuilt; although, largely to the same specs. Wood certainly hadn't seemed to be a material able to restrain a fire beast, which had proved to be true. In the long run, nothing could have stopped him anyhow, so they didn't go through great measures to make improvements in the remodel. What actually kept the Weissman levels at bay was the technology invented by the Gold Clan that they kept inside the holding area.

With a technopathic psychokinetic such as Kory Dokite, much of that technology was counterproductive. It wasn't the first time he had been in Scepter 4 custody, however. Past encounters had prepared the officers for the prehistoric tools they would have to use to dampen his abilities.

A crackling sound recognizable as radio interference greeted Fushimi from his front pocket when he first approached the prison cell. He responded with a sharp kick to the wooden door. It shook, and its metal fastenings made an unpleasant clatter.

"Quit fooling around, or I won't even _try_ to get you released." The blue clansman's threat was not baseless.

Kory had been left on his own long enough to have restored his usual confidence, at least temporarily, so he didn't melt into compliance. "You're within my range," he pointed out as if the simple presence of technology was sufficient justification.

Fushimi leaned down to glare through the gridded, cell window. "Are you claiming you are incapable of controlling your powers?" Both the captor and the captive were aware that it was a trick question. The reaction would reveal a lot. For that reason, Fushimi watched his subject with a scrutinizing eye.

The strain held a self-assured pose, open and seeming impervious to his current situation. In spite of the carefully projected persona, there was a slight sheen of sweat on his face in the cold cell, and his right leg twitched rhythmically.

With a bothered scoff, Fushimi grumbled, "Addict."

"I've been in here for like eight hours," he cracked in defense.

"Four." The correction was blunt and condescending. The officer didn't so much as look away from the device he had retrieved from his pocket. Someone should definitely be able to unplug for longer than that without withdrawals beginning. Walking away, he commented, "We could wait eight if you prefer."

At the end of the hallway, a row of cubby holes lined a small section of wall for the prisoners personal affairs. Having turned his phone off, Fushimi shoved it roughly into an empty square and then made his way back to the cell. He couldn't help but make an amused grin at the sight of Kory's face desperately pasted against the bars of the window.

Fushimi flashed a handful of papers, stapled at the corner, directly in his face. "Typically we enter this directly into the system, but just for you I printed a copy. Back away so we can get this over with."

Kory did as told, allowing the blue clansman space to activate the door. Strands of it fell away in opposing directions like a Chinese puzzle box. When nothing remained as a barrier between the two young men, Fushimi stepped inside. The pieces slid back into place behind him.

Standing near the rear of the cell, the technopathic strain frowned slightly like he felt a strange vibe. "That's not technology, is it?"

"You won't be able to override it," Fushimi confirmed without revealing anything. He had no desire to participate in small talk and got straight to business. "Have a seat. Some research discovered a clause in our Terms and Conditions that allows for the provision of asylum. First, we'll need to make sure your records are up to date."

That was straightforward enough, so Kory accepted the outstretched documents and pen. He was decently familiar with the amount of paperwork required at the government bureau. A four page questionnaire didn't come as a surprise to him. As he started to browse through it, he was startlingly unsettled by how much of it had already been filled out.

 **Name: Dokite, Kory Jr.**

 **Date of birth: March 9, 199X**

 **Height: 182cm**

 **Gender: Male**

 **Status: Single**

 **Race: Japanese/American**

 **Hair Color: Brown**

 **Eye Color: Brown**

 **Blood Type: AB**

 **Occupation:**

 **Emergency Contact: Dokite, Hannah (Mother)**

 **Prior Affiliations: Ashinaka Academy, The Gray Hat Club, Tokyo News Network**

"Seriously?" Kory questioned. "Did you leave part of this for me?"

Dulling his voice until it came across as automated, Fushimi answered ceremoniously, "I hope you don't mind I took the liberty of entering what information I already knew to save time." After all, it was too late to give permission, and Fushimi didn't much care how Kory felt about it.

"You know my blood type, but not my occupation?"

"Scepter 4 must be prepared for all sorts of circumstances, including disasters requiring emergency medical treatment of our staff, visitors, and detainees," the officer recited numbly. Then he allowed himself a moment to indulge. "Can you even maintain a steady job?"

"I'll have you know, I've been in my current employment for three years. It's entirely legit, and it's more clearly publicized than the work I did crawling Twitter keywords for TNN."

Fushimi smirked but continued in his monotonous tone, "If any of the information is inaccurate, please revise it."

Therefore, Kory ripped the lid from the pen and wrote as instructed under the subject Occupation, "Expert Social Media Manager for Ruri Hijiribe*."

Snorting in derision, Fushimi mocked the title, "What, you take her selfies for her?"

"Blogging," he corrected haughtily. "And I make more money for less work than you ever will."

"Yet you're the one siphoning funds from corporations."

"These days that's all for principle."

Unable to deny that, Fushimi stuffed his tongue in his cheek. It was true the captain overlooked much of the strain's most recent illegal activity as low priority since he had taken to only disrupting shady business dealings. If the crime couldn't be reported for fear of being investigated, the criminal could be left alone to fend for himself against the victim's brand of retribution. Kory handled that will enough with anonymity and nauseating charm.

Still, there was no reason he couldn't mock that just to rile up the captive. "What are you now? Goemon?** Do you call yourself a vigilante?"

"Better that than a _police_ organization with no regard for Human Rights," the visitor easily stabbed back.

"You _begged_ to leave your fate in the hands of that organization."

Having been reminded disdainfully of what the two foes were failing to accomplish, Kory turned back to the paperwork. Page two began by outlining the history of criminal activity he had formerly been arrested for - not excluding **falsifying statistics and tampering with electronic merchandise,** which had been Fushimi-jargon for cheating at an arcade.

Beneath that were listed the current charges for which he was being detained: **The POI is suspected of attempted burglary of government property. The act of breaking and/or entering was thwarted by agents of said property's owner. The POI is to remain in custody until intent is proven.**

"Really?" Kory complained in disbelief. "You had to trump up these lies? I didn't do any of this."

The officer replied blandly, "We have 48 hours to decide to drop the charges. That is, _if_ it is determined your claims are 100% truthful."

That was the end of the first document which consisted solely of verifying formerly recorded information and making the needed updates. It required a signature of validation that Kory reluctantly provided. He shoved it back in the officer's general direction and looked at the next paper in the pile. It was a questionnaire that, at first glance appeared entirely normal.

 **Have you committed any felonies in the last six months?**

 **Have you sold/given away any government secrets?**

 **Have you visited any website containing illegal content, or downloaded/uploaded any files protected by copyright laws?**

After silently writing a few answers, the strain stopped and asked with a hint of amusement, "Do you ask the same questions of everyone?"

Fushimi puffed out his chest to respond vaguely, "They are personalized; although, the contents are generally the same."

He read aloud, "'Have you ever impersonated the opposite sex online?' What?"

"Answer the question," Fushimi grumbled, already growing tired of interacting. Hadn't he deliberately typed out a worksheet so they wouldn't have to discuss the matter?

"First of all, there's nothing _illegal_ about that in itself, so why should it be any business of yours?"

"Sounds like you do."

"No!-I mean why does it even matter?"

"It is imperative to confirm that none of your activities are a threat to the bureau."

"They aren't!" Kory hoped that insistence would redirect focus away from the current topic.

Fushimi wasn't so easily distracted from his goal, though. Trying a different method, he ordered, "Provide a list of all you identities, usernames, and pseudonyms."

Heaving an irritated sigh, Kory began to write. **Mentalist99, BigDK, Data_W!zzard.**

"Are you sure you aren't forgetting any?" The agent probed.

His prisoner replied in frustration, "Are you thinking of someone in particular?"

"Oh, I don't know...maybe Kanra?"

When Fushimi supplied that name, Kory's demeanor changed instantly. His eyes widened, and he gave his full attention to the grumpy, young man hovering impatiently at his side.

"You haven't been...?" He began to ask a question but faded off.

Seizing his pause, Fushimi demanded, "Is it you?"

"Hell no!" Kory denied. "That chick is crazy! Bad news, I tell you."

"Am I supposed to shudder at a warning from _you?"_ Fushimi's attitude was visibly defiant, implying that he thought the strain spineless.

Kory maintained his serious tone, though, counseling, "I know you don't like me an' all, but honestly, Fushimi, if you listen to just one thing I say, make it be this: don't ever have any dealings with the person with the username kanra."

The advice was thoroughly ignored as the blue clansman slapped one final document into his client's hands. "Sign this."

It was a brief statement that he meant no harm, with a clause indicating should he breach the contract, Scepter 4 had full authority to respond however they pleased. Also included was a detailed disclosure of how the person mentioned was giving power of attorney for every decision regarding his safety to the Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau, Civil Registry Department, Annex 4.

Kory really would never accept something so extreme if he wasn't truly worried for his life. With a begrudging moan and a shaking hand, he signed away his freedom for an indefinite amount of time. In response, Fushimi accepted the papers while clicking his tongue. If the situation was really so grave, it would definitely be troublesome.

As Fushimi left, the door once more sliding apart with no apparent cause, he muttered back to his least favorite strain, "I'll have to talk to the captain."

Uncomfortable silence concluded their exchange. Fushimi made his way directly to the cubby where he had left his PDA for safe keeping, shoving it into its proper place in the front pocket of his uniform with more oomph than was necessary. The whole interview had been a total waste of his time. All they had needed from the start was verification of consent. Without a second glance to them, he tossed all the documents except that one into the nearest trashcan.

* * *

 _ **Hope you enjoyed our Easter Eggs**_

 _ ***Ruri Hijiribe is from the same universe as Kanra**_

 _ ****Goemon is like a Japanese Robin Hood. Wikipedia has a great article on it.**_


	11. Trace of Red

_**We're back! And hopefully with an accurate depiction of the Scepter 4 alphabet boys during their down time. There is a reference in here to the final chapter of Countdown, and some other Easter Eggs (entirely unrelated to the holiday) for you to have fun picking out. Enjoy!**_

* * *

The room was quiet - not annoyingly so, as noise continuously filtered in from the bustling evening in the hall. One sound in particular stood out above the rest. It was an unusual shuffling, something between the parting of dry grasses and cloth dragging along the floor. Neither one could be expected within the walls of the Fourth Annex. That was what made the subtle friction so obvious.

With it came a shadow. A silhouette in the doorway blocked a large portion of the bright, florescent light outside the room. The lone brunette hunched over a tablet at a table in the center of the room noticed this in his peripheral vision. Unnerved, he glanced in that direction. Beedy eyes glistened back at him, almost glowing, almost crying.

Whatever it was was only half a meter high with skin as dark as charcoal. It had the head feathers of a kagu bird and the mouth of a serpent. It came closer, seeming to float without touching the floor. It stared. Drilling through his soul, looking like it might cry, it stared right at him. Bearing it's bloody fangs, it ascended to the edge of the table where the young man sat on edge.

A high pitched voice beckoned with malice, "Good evening, Hidaka, Akira."

Hidaka let out an uncharacteristically effeminate shriek and almost flipped his chair upside down trying to escape the "possessed creature." A moment later, a white head popped above the table beside the doll of polished eyes with a sympathetic expression. The blue clansman quickly recognized his own roommate, Gotou, and felt ashamed of his gullibility.

"Were you trying to give me a heart attack?" Hidaka questioned, and he was still visibly tense from fear.

Gotou responded innocently, "You looked far too serious for the cafeteria. We decided to cheer you up."

"We?" Hidaka repeated. "You mean you and the demon idol from the temple of doom*?"

Gotou began to speak to the contrary when another member of their team leaped between the two, grabbing each of them around their shoulders. "No, us silly!" The short boy with auburn hair declared, referring to himself and an uncertain Enomoto who lingered a few steps behind.

In a strangled voice, Gotou complained, "Doumiyouji, Let. Me. Go."

Responding like a scolded puppy, Andy Doumiyouji slunk into a cafeteria chair and muttered, "But really, what are you doing working after hours?" Even the standardized uniform of Scepter 4's Special Duty Corps could not effectively mute out his eccentric personality.

"I'm not entirely sure if it's work or not," Hidaka replied, at last calming down from the scare he'd had. "This afternoon I found sitting on my desk a completed acquisitions request form from someone in the Second Swordsman Division named Doi. I've never heard that name before, and besides he requested a copy to archive of the video I took of the demonstration at the seminar on Psychokinetic Cases for the Metro Police Department First Responders. What does that have to do with the Swordsman Divisions? If it was just to archive, wouldn't it have been General Affairs in charge of that?"

Now seated across from him, Enomoto had a new sheen of sweat on his face, and he seemed to be reliving a nightmare. For him, learning that the skit had been video taped and that his performance could be shared clan-wide was indeed a terrifying thought. While he didn't speak up against the acquisitions request, his posture showed how clearly uncomfortable it made him.

"Don't make that face Eno! They are fans of our performance!" Doumiyouji declared optimistically.

"I'm not sure I want people seeing it," the shier man muttered.

Ignoring that dilemma altogether, Gotou mentioned to his roommate, "Doumiyouji has a point; they're probably just fans pretending to have a valid reason to request your video. There's nothing to worry about."

"Unless," the brunette pointed out while taking a bite of the stir fry he had served himself from that day's dinner buffet, "someone in the video is a suspected strain, and the team investigating it doesn't want to inform us until they are certain of the details."

"You mean like a 'mole'? Within the ranks of the police department?"

Hidaka shrugged. "Who else was there?"

"Us." That blunt fact was stated by Enomoto with a conspiring gleam in his eyes.

Being the youngest and slowest to catch on, Doumiyouji exclaimed in shock, "You mean their might be a rogue strain among us?"

The others quickly hushed him, while Enomoto added in a whisper, "You don't want whoever it is to know we're on to them."

Agreeing, he replied equally quietly, "Who do you think it is?"

That is how four top ranking officers of Scepter 4, members of the Special Duty Corps, who ought to have had plenty of valid work assigned to them to last a month, ended up spending three hours in the cafeteria watching and rewatching a ten minute home video from the seminar on Psychokinetic Cases for the Metro Police Department First Responders. Fushimi deleted the clip instead of sharing it like he should have. Therefore, the Research and Development Department had to resort to unusual means of procuring the footage. Hotaru was so desperate to fit in that she had prematurely agreed to do so for her coworkers. Having failed, she exchanged responsibilities with Doi, who in turn had been too timid to ask for it in person.

In the end Hidaka's imagination went wild, but it could basically all be blamed on Fushimi for deleting it in the first place.

After three hours of in depth speculation, the only conclusion reached was made by Gotou, "Well the suspect can't be me; I wasn't even at the event."

Pondering that line of thought, Hidaka added, "Hmm, in that case Fuse and Fushimi definitely aren't suspect either."

Enomoto just let out a long sigh. "We're not getting anywhere."

For his part, Doumiyouji had gotten distracted long before the others and only now did he rejoin the conversation. "Speaking of Fushimi, what do you all think he was doing last night?"

Hidaka was the first to respond, "Ah, he got pretty defensive when I asked him about it earlier."

"Do you think he was with someone?"

"You mean, like a girlfriend?"

"With Fushimi isn't it more likely that he purchased a Moe Date, room delivery course?"

Only Enomoto could think first of something so immoral and simultaneously innocent as a rent-a-date instructional service. At the same time, all of them were afraid that such an insult might get around to Fushimi's ears somehow, and they instantly fell into silence. For a moment they looked around the room, verifying no snitch may have perhaps overheard their words. Then, quite some time was spent vetting one another with suspicious glances to ensure no one among them was a rat.

After a while had passed with no sound but the clock ticking in the hallway, curiosity got the best of them, and Gotou cautiously started back into the topic, "Some strain came to visit him today. Very friendly, even called him by his given name. Of course, Fushimi acted irritated like he hates the guy's guts, but..."

"Do you think they...?" Unable to finish the thought completely, Enomoto drifted off, but his implications were perfectly clear.

"He was out all night. He came in to work late doing the walk of shame. Then some pretty boy comes to call on him, and he responds with denial. I think that's undeniable logic."

Shock took over Doumiyouji's mouth, and he gaped louder than everyone else, "Fushimi has a boyfriend?"

Hidaka seemed rather satisfied with himself as if wearing the pride of a father whose son had just been accepted to an Ivy League university. "It's about time he started a personal relationship with someone," he concluded with a nod.

"You're one to talk, Hidaka. When was the last time you went out on a date?" His roommate teased.

"Hey! I am in a steady, long distance relationship."

"Right," he agreed sarcastically.

Then Doumiyouji let out a miserably depressed moan and whined, "My last date was a bust thanks to the Greens."

* * *

That day a girl went on a date. She clothed herself in a fine, rose dress with lace and pulled her peachy hair up into a bun, fixing it with a ribbon. She applied a bit of blush and lipstick to add a shade of rouge to her features. Her nails were painted a neutral, elegant color. Sweet and delicate, she was the epitome of innocence. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was satisfied.

On second thought, she removed the ribbon from her hair, replacing it with a more formal, silver pin. After all, she wasn't going to see Homra, so she wouldn't need to include a touch of red like before. Anna wouldn't be looking for her.

The young man was kind and gentle. She wouldn't have agreed to date him if he wasn't. He treated her like a lady in all respects to the brink of spoiling her. Though soft spoken, he was funny. She wouldn't feel so guilty about neglecting to laugh if he had been entirely devoid of humor. That wasn't why she didn't laugh.

When the food was served, she didn't dig in right away. At first, she wasn't sure why she hesitated. He certainly got right to his meal. It was only after he took several bites and inquired if she was all right that she realized what she had been waiting for. He didn't insist on taking pictures of it untouched or try to film her reaction as it was served. _Old habits,_ she scolded herself and tried her best not to get lost in the memory of an ashy brunette she had once loved.

Still, somehow the whole thing just wasn't right. It wasn't right because he didn't have a crazy, rebellious flare hidden behind his gentle temperament. It wasn't right because his hobbies were so normal they suited him. He enjoyed reading and writing poetry, sitting by the fountain in the park… He would never dream of learning a latin dance or making his own snowglobe; he had never even heard of Quidditch.

It wasn't right because his guitar had an amp and wasn't made of wood.

That wasn't to say she found him boring or repulsive by any means. In fact, if she had never know that young man first, she would probably fall madly in love. They would live happily ever after in the calmest, most peaceable world known to man. Instead, because she had known _him_ , this new relationship constantly felt as if something were missing.

 _Nothing_ was missing. He would never mistreat her; he would love her tenderly, faithfully, for all his days. He was perfect for her. Still, even as he accompanied her to the door of her apartment, the proper, gentlemanly escort to protect a vulnerable maiden, she wasn't sure. They hesitated in the hallway, wondering if it was the right time for a first kiss. _Would that be like leading him on?_ After all, even if he was perfect for her, Emi still loved Tatara.

Her parents had called her while she was out. They too were ordinary people who lived in another prefecture; although, her mother could get needlessly excited over little things. A police officer and a baker in a small town, neither of them were incredibly proficient in computers. In their lines of work, anything involving technology could be left to the younger generation of employees. They had learned the basics, though, how to use a cell phone and check their emails. These skills were essential to communicate without their daughter in the city and her older sister in London.

Emi had almost moved back home. Everything in Shizume was a memory. The ocean itself was cast in melancholy. His shining face and sunny disposition sat upon the breaking waves. It didn't make her sad. She merely missed him. Since he left, her life had returned to being ordinary, so tranquil it unsettled her. That was why she couldn't move home. Such a small town would almost seem tedious if compared with the time she had spent with Homra.

As she listened to her mother ramble on about the latest news she had received from the eldest sibling, Emi had a fleeting urge to tell them she was moving to England, just to see their reaction. She would be sure to find new excitement in a city like that. Running away from her memories of Tatara wouldn't be right either. He had given her a wonderful two and a half years of life. She didn't need to replace or forget him; she only needed to learn to continue living like him without him.

The man she had gone out with that evening frequently sang covers of popular music along with his guitar and uploaded them to the internet. That was another aspect of technology Emi's mother had deemed necessary to learn, and she commented on how much she liked the boy every time she watched one of his new videos.

Emi felt guilty for thinking a conversation with her parents was empty. She loved them dearly. Everywhere she turned, however, was nothing but the daily grind. Once upon a time she hadn't minded that. She wasn't comparing the world around her to Tatara. That wouldn't be right. All the same, she knew it was only because of him that her eyes had been opened to a deeper meaning in life. She had yet to find another with similar depth.

Then, after another day unable to find what she was looking for, Emi changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed, just like any other night. Switching off the lamp, she closed her eyes and began the process of entering the realm of dreams. Only there could she be with _him_ again.

His voice was gentle in the darkness. Even if he said nothing, he appeared with a soft glow, ashy hair swaying lightly in a nonexistent wind. Those eyes she remembered so well, warm like honey, filled with a melancholic understanding even as his lips drew genuine happiness across his face to see her once more. Just as she should not have sought comfort with him each night, he should not have welcomed her into such a damaging fantasy.

Of course, he was dead, so it was senseless to blame him. All the same, she spent her nights remembering his laugh, picturing his subtle colors, feeling the eternal warmth of his mildly thermal hands. Sometimes she had the nerve to pull him into a hug, to grasp on to him so tightly that he was never be able to leave her again, and bask once more in the comfort of his carefree tranquility.

Other times, destruction consumed her safe place in a flashing red. They ran, and they ran, hand-in-hand until both were panting with exhaustion. Their legs couldn't take a single step more, yet they had never left their initial location. His gentle heat was magnified, sending something extremely hot through her arm. It burned. It devoured everything and everyone around them, so that all she could see was flame. Above that rose a sword, an ominous shape that she had never learned to understand, only to fear.

The sword shifted colors, from red to blue, silver, or no color at all. Then, a shiny, black sword loomed overhead, seeping out immense quantities of a dark mist. The cloud-like substance weakened her, crumpling her legs and then sucking her consciousness away. Just before complete black-out, a gloved hand clasped her wrist, and she looked up into a ghostly mask. As wisps of dark mesh drew her away from the scorching heat of the flames, she called out desperately, "Tatara! Tatara, help!"

In spite of her struggles, the abductor easily overpowered her, and Tatara was nowhere to be seen. The dark clansman continued to lead her away by force. She resisted in vain even as unconsciousness tugged at the corners of her mind.

After a short while, the masked man wrenched open a rusty, metal door with an ear-piercing screech. The entryway revealed a rooftop view of the city's nightscape, and he shoved her through, locking her in. Emi wasn't alone there. A white haired boy leaned against the railing as if looking for someone.

She heard it at last, Tatara's voice. He was beside her; though, she couldn't see him. Initially, his presence filled her with joy and calm, but she knew better. Her heart began to pump wildly and her breathing hastened. This was _that_ video: the final video Tatara had ever recorded which Homra had shown her. Even if they hadn't shown her, it had still played several times on every screen or device city-wide. Visions she would never be able to erase from memory.

A loud 'bang' interrupted Tatara's friendly words. The white haired boy had pointed a gun toward him, and in that instant smoke flashed from the barrel. That was the shot that abruptly tore the thing most important to her from her heart.

Emi woke in a sweat, having heard a sound in her apartment. Muscles tense in anticipation of an attack, she glanced around the dark space. From her room she had always been able to hear the streets below with their traffic, horns, and sirens. Now, at 2:47 in the morning, all of that was quiet, too eerily quiet. For a moment, nothing moved, and all Emi heard were her own shallow breaths.

She reached beneath her bed for a baseball bat that she had been keeping there for a few months now.

Originally, her father had suggested for her to keep something like a taser or pepper spray in her purse after the kidnapping was over. She finally broke down and bought some when Tatara died. Living alone was dangerous, and clearly her loose ties to Homra did not ensure anything resembling 24/7 protection. That hadn't even been guaranteed to their own members.

It hadn't felt right in her hands, though, like anyone could snatch it from her and use it against her. Somehow, her heart longed for a much simpler, more obvious, defense. She cleared out a drawer in her dresser, put the weapons there, and never opened it again. Still, the dreams continued to torment her often.

After the grand reopening of bar HOMRA, Emi had been invited to spend some time with them all for the first time in forever. They had played baseball all afternoon. It was during this time that Kusanagi perceptively offered for her to keep the bat in such a way that no one but her grasped his true intentions.

She clenched it to her chest in the dark. Even though she had now realized the noise which awakened her was the neighbor getting home from his typical late-shift. That didn't stop her from pressing her back to the wall, pulling her knees toward her chin, and hugging the bat tightly. After all, hadn't it been quite a while since she was last attacked? She felt like it could happen that night.

Determined to not be caught off guard, she willfully forced herself to stay awake. Her eyelids drooped with fatigue, but she held them open for fear of what might step through her door. She would be ready, with her bat that she probably couldn't swing with enough force to do damage to any intruder, because someone would be coming after her soon.

The following morning she woke in a position similar to expected, having collapsed on her side with her limbs wrapped around the bat like a security blanket. She was roused from an undesired slumber by the cheerful, chirping sound of her phone ringing suddenly. Having not been planning to receive a call, she stretched out a stiff arm to reach the device.

Its screen displayed, "Kusanagi," and she couldn't help but wonder, _Why would he be calling?_

* * *

 _She could take them_ , she reassured herself. _There were only three of them. She could do it._

She was quickly proven wrong, however, as she began to shift all her weight to one leg so she could raise the other and had to abruptly abandon the notion when a stab of pain shot down her lower extremity. After all she'd been through—her family's battle with cancer, giving up her addiction, confronting the Black Clan, even regular fights with the Red Clan's Yatagarasu…After all that, Hayashi, Azami had been beaten by the stairs to the front door of the Bar HOMRA.

The owner of said establishment eyed the younger girl from behind his purple shades. She was a trooper. She had requested of the doctor before being discharged from the hospital that they only prescribe her a heavy duty Ibuprofen rather than something stronger and addictive. Not only that, but she then insisted on making the trek back by her own strength and she had done well. She hadn't complained once. But that had been on level ground and now he could see her determination wane just the slightest—the small wince followed by an expression of contemplation where he could almost see her parkour brain trying to find a path around the small yet significant obstacle.

Good-natured smile in place, he gave a gentlemanly bow in her direction and, with the hope that she wouldn't get offended, made an proposal only because he knew she'd never ask. "May I offer my assistance, m'lady?"

Suddenly bashful but at the same time grateful, she approved with, "Thank you, kind sir."

So it went that he stooped down to her level and, with an arm wrapped behind her back and one under her knees, Kusanagi found himself carrying her bridal style across the threshold of his grand bar. It was hard to miss Yata's mopey expression mixed with his confusion over the feeling as well as his near immediate disappearance once through the front door.

"Are you sure you're okay with me staying here?" Azami asked as she was set down in the warm interior of Red Clan's headquarters.

It was a silly question since there wasn't really another option considering she didn't make it any further than the couch before she was overcome with the need to sit down. It had been a longer walk than she remembered and the meds they had given her at the hospital before she had been discharged had started to wear off, but she tried to make it appear that that had been her intention all along. The older male was not fooled, but neither did he resent the arrangement.

"Sure it is," he affirmed, going behind the counter and gathering up some paperwork he needed to finish. "We owe you and it's not like it's for forever. Besides, Anna will like the company of another girl."

The Green Girl lifted an eyebrow slightly in uncertainty at the reassurance, but deep inside, a little piece of her heart warmed a bit at the thought. The young Red King would appreciate _her_ presence in her own domain? It was almost enough to make Azami throw all her caution over the past few hours to the wind and trust the world again. Almost. (While she was pretty sure that none of the boys of HOMRA had anything to do with putting her in her current situation, everyone could still be a suspect and she had to keep that in mind until she was certain who the real culprit was.)

Yata returned from the upstairs where he had vanished when they entered, a small stack of blankets held in his hands. He set them on the coffee table in front of her and she noticed his eyes flick just briefly to the opposite end from where she sat before he moved to take a seat at the bar across from Kusanagi. It didn't take any of Azami's sluggish brain power to figure out what the gesture was all about.

Ever since they had entered the building, she could sense that it wasn't the same. Without Totsuka getting under foot to film everything or playing his guitar softly in the background, the atmosphere felt quite a bit gloomier. For her part, Azami could practically feel the previous Red King lounging on the opposite end of her perch, cigarette fixed loosely between his lips and his golden lion-like eyes boring right through her green exterior just like they always did. Though they would never really be gone, without them physically being there, life in the bar had turned rather dull.

Kusanagi came around the end of the counter then and held out a glass of water to her, perfectly shined by his own two hands. "No more unprepared trips to the woods and remember to keep hydrated, alright? That's the first rule of hiking."

All at once, Azami's heart rate doubled and something like an echo of his words rang clear in her mind.

" _Didn't you bring any water, Hayashi-san? That's, like, the first rule of hiking. Here, you can have some of mine. We've still got a long way to go."_

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and she asked, "What did you say?"

Kusanagi's expression mimicked hers and he repeated his admonition, but with simpler terms this time, just in case her brain was too tired to process bigger words. "You need to drink plenty of water."

"Yeah, I…I got that. It's just…that's not what I thought you said…"

"Are you feeling alright?"

Azami gave him a blank stare for a couple seconds, trying to decipher what for sure was real or not and how she should answer him. Lucky for her, before she had to try to explain what she had just experienced, a distraction entered the room. First, the newest Red King trotted into the room and climbed onto a stool beside Yata. She was followed by a second being and at the sight of the gentle personage, a calm began to settle on Azami and a tired smile crossed her face.

"Hey, Haruna-san."

"It's good to see you again, Hayashi-san," the taller girl greeted in return with a small bow.

Her services had been enlisted by Kusanagi to help find some alternative clothes for the Green Girl after the bartender himself had been pitifully entreated for help by their own vanguard who could not even look at a girls' clothing advertisements without blushing himself nearly to death. Though Emi's aid was appreciated and it was nice to have a view into the female intellect, it soon became apparent that the two minds of the women were quite different, even to Kusanagi who knew just as little about Hayashi.

Though there was nothing wrong with the styles Emi chose—they were all perfectly suitable for a modest young lady—they were in stark contrast to the punk tomboy style of the Green Clansman and Kusanagi was fairly certain they couldn't pay Azami enough to get into those frilly outfits.

While these two women were both fitting for the boys of HOMRA, Emi was a gentle flower, a soothing motherly-type figure and Azami was just one of the guys. In the end, the final decision on the apparel fell on Kusanagi anyway when he stumbled across a sports store and spotted some dark grey workout pants with neon orange pockets and piping to match that coursed down the legs. It wasn't the typical color scheme, but it would do since some of the boys were convinced that someone was trying to kill her and they wanted to provide her some sort of cover. In fact, he had discovered up their return that during the whole shopping escapade, a couple of the Red Clan had thought is suitable to make a sweatshirt with their own logo especially for her, just to throw off anyone who might be looking for her.

Purchases made, Kusanagi asked Emi to stay at the bar with Anna and tidy up a little while he and Yata went to pick up Azami from the hospital. He was a bit surprised that she had actually not put up _too much_ of a fuss about the choice, but he guessed the gown she had been forced to wear the past few days had something to do with it. Now he looked pleased that she seemed relaxed in the ensemble during the reunion while the two shared easy smiles. With that observation, he decided it was safe to get on with his day.

"Well, ladies, I have a shipment to pick up along with a few other errands to run. No rest for a businessman. I've requested the help of Yata-chan so it'll be quiet around here for a while." He said the last bit more for Azami's amusement, but it seemed partially lost on her at the moment, judging by the mere quirk of her lips he received.

"You don't have to worry about me," she said.

The bartender nodded his understanding of that fact and then admitted, "Even so, I've arranged for Haruna-chan to stay with you for the day. I'm sure you would like to catch up."

He made it halfway to the exit before another thought drifted into mind and he faced her again, studying her countenance for a moment. "I also informed a fellow bartender acquaintance in the acquisition business about the recent events. He's familiar with the underworld and has a few unique connections at his disposal. He's agreed to make sure no one comes looking for you. You can relax."

The girl scoffed to herself and rubbed her nose in response. Was she really that easy to read right now? She was losing her edge. Still she gave a nod of recognition for his efforts and a mumbled "Thanks" before he made his departure.

Uncomfortable silence followed for several minutes after the bell chimed where the three women—well, two and a half, really—glanced awkwardly at each other, fidgeted, and tried to think of something to talk about after having not seen each other for months and months. In this place, with this atmosphere, Emi found herself seriously pondering, again with a sense of sad nostalgia, _What would Tatara do?_

 _Disperse the tense air, first of all._ So it was that she decided from that point forward, she would fall into his role for this particular situation. After all, as she had been so brutally reminded since his death, no one could actually replace him, but she could definitely take a page from his book.

"What do you like to do in your spare time, Hayashi-san?" she asked in as upbeat a tone as she could muster.

Azami gave her a wry grin. "Climb buildings."

Emi almost wilted already and she'd only been Totsuka for two seconds. "Under the circumstances, I don't think that would be wise…"

"Play video games," the Green Girl tried again.

"I've never been very good at those…" Emi confessed.

Azami lifted up the handheld console Yata had let her borrow. "It's okay. This is only for one player anyway." A pause hung in the air and then she chuckled a little. "I'm sorry. I grew up with guys so that's all I know. What do normal girls do together?"

Emi hummed to herself as she thought and then supplied, "Shopping."

Even Anna's head perked up a little at the suggestion so Azami hated to point out, "If I can't climb buildings right now, I'm pretty sure I couldn't walk around a mall all day."

Emi hung her head. "Right…"

"But…" Azami went on with a reassuring smile. "I wouldn't mind going with you two. We'll plan on another day."

Emi nodded cheerfully. "Would you like that, too, Anna-chan?"

The newly named Red King gave a small nod herself, but appeared to be engrossed in something else by that point. It was then that Azami noticed for the first time that the small girl was staring at her intently.

"Something wrong, Anna-chan?"

"You're red…" she answered simply.

It took the Green Girl a moment to remember that she was, in fact, not living up to her title that day. There was bright orange on her pants, the fiery proclamation of HOMRA across her chest, and the black hood of the sweatshirt had a ring of red around the opening that Azami had drawn up over her un-styled hair. It was almost making a burning outline of her body, giving Anna a definite image that she could finally make out and it was like the younger female was really seeing her for the first time.

"Azami's pretty."

The Not-So-Green-Girl felt heat creep up her neck at the complement. "Oh…uh…you think so?"

The interaction gave Emi an idea. "How about we make snacks and do our hair?"

"But…I'm in sweatpants…" Azami began to protest.

"It's important for a woman to feel pretty, even when she's not at her best, Hayashi-san. It will make you feel better."

The other shrugged in consent. "I'll try anything once. Sign me up."

On her way to the kitchen, Emi inquired, "Any special requests for snacks?"

"Can we make cheesy breadsticks?" Azami suggested.

"With tomato sauce," Anna added.

Smiling gently, Emi attempted a Tatara-like response that lacked the proper enthusiasm in the end. "One dozen cheesy breadsticks with marinara sauce coming right up."

* * *

*Rest in Peace Han Solo

* * *

 _ **Author's note, according to the style of Oogai, Aya:**_

 _ **Btw, Arait like personally thinks that orange is so totally not Azami-chyan's color.**_


	12. Battle of Pictures

**_As mentioned in the A/N for Arait's OS Copilot, We are incredibly sorry for the delay. Yeah, we know that's probably starting to get old. But it's true! Arait got a promotion at her job. Now, instead of coding UIs in Java, Arait also flies around the country as Data Engineer for Radio Frequency Aerial Survey work. Arait definitely feels like a Scepter 4 agent with long, wordy specs like that! (If anyone was curious, no Arait has not received training as a pilot, nor has she been in such an emergency situation that required her to take over the controls and land the plane. That part was imaginary.)_**

 ** _Of course, Arait doesn't know why Kateracks thought that should be mentioned as a reason this chapter is late in coming. This was Kateracks' chapter to write. Arait only caused a couple days of delay to write a very small section. Kateracks doesn't even know what she was doing that made her take so long, but whatever it was, she says it must have been important and time consuming. Arait honestly just believes the Homra boys gave Kateracks a hard time this time around._**

 ** _That said, Arait worked really hard to write the following chapter "The Way of Tea." It's already complete, so the next wait will definitely not be so long. Also, Kateracks, Arait, and VioletFireflies will once again be in the same state for a week to attend Anime Oasis! (If you also will be there, look for us Saturday.) A fourth addition to our clan will also be attending: user rcanderson42. During this time we attend to do much collaborating._**

 ** _Special welcome to redstarsarc! We are so happy every time to receive a review by you. Please don't be a stranger. We definitely love to hear from all our readers, even if it's just a line or two. So please review and we'll reply!_**

* * *

"Hayashi, w-what happened to you?" These harsh words were the greeting of Homra's vanguard who had just returned from his errand with Kusanagi.

She deadpanned an obvious answer to his obvious question. "I got in a car wreck, remember?"

"Not that, Dumbass, I mean..." He stopped speaking and just stared at her from head to toe. Her hair was curled and pinned slightly to one side, exposing a set of jewels in each ear when he hadn't even realized they were pierced. Eye shadow and mascara highlighted the depth of her brown irises, and a tiny shimmer glistened off her lips.

"You look...you look like..."

Thinking he could only be staring at the horrid combination of the neon orange stripe on her sweat pants and the red lining of her jacket with the green streaks in her hair, Azami cut him off with a harsh warning, "Don't say 'a Christmas tree.'"

Yata hadn't been thinking that at all, but now that she had mentioned it, the uncoordinated appearance did remind him of a picture he had...

 _Heavy snowflakes drifted through the dismal sky. It was a cold_ _December 20th_ _, not a crisp cold but the penetrating, humid type. If anything could be considered positive about the situation, it would have to be the small space heater in the corner of the living room that the boy—still in his middle school uniform slacks—had squeezed himself beside._

 _He didn't necessarily want to stare out the glass door at the listless storm, apathetically refusing to dump its load of moisture and move on. But there was nothing else to see from the only warmth in the house. Occasionally, he wiped away the fog on the window caused by the condensation of his breath, mostly when he sighed over the ruckus across the room._

 _In the corner next to a sofa, stood a seven foot, evergreen tree. It wasn't real; that was out of reach for the family's tight budget. Rather, the bristles were made of the same petroleum product as all the glittery tinsel two young children had tossed aimlessly throughout the boughs. The elder of the two, Minoru, was finally old enough to handle the more fragile ornaments, and he arranged them according to the logic of his preteen mind._

 _Megumi was just a toddler, hardly tall enough to reach doorknobs and the bathroom sink. At the threat of her starting to cry, their half-brother hefted her onto his shoulders so she could help with the streamers. Between the two of their combined heights, Misaki thought they could definitely put the plastic star on top. Then again, he had never been very good at math and almost brought the whole thing down on them in a tangled mess, drawing the brief attention of Fushimi and a snark from his lips._

 _Thankfully, Mr. Yata—the father of the two children—had been nearby to catch the falling tree. He quickly snapped a photo of his blended family with the look of panic on his stepson's face, the sheer delight of the little girl who was thrilled by any sort of mess, and his wife patiently unraveling their son from a colorful chain of lights._

 _Christmas at the Yata house, with five very ordinary, very bonded people making noise and celebrating tradition, was very different than that cold mansion shared by three strangers, Fushimi decided. Even though he still felt out of place in their midst, he didn't mind being there. The father had taken to occupying Megumi with a tickling fest that made her shriek with laughter so that Misaki could help his brother hang the lights properly._

 _Fushimi had watched the fiasco for a while, then drowsily stretched his neck. When he opened his eyes a second later, Mrs. Yata had sought him out between the door and the heater with a small, white box in her hands._

 _"Saruhiko-kun," she addressed, extending the gift down to his level. "We all want you to have this."_

 _Had it been Christmas Day already, he may have understood receiving a present. But Christmas was still five days away, and it wasn't wrapped in fancy paper like the others that had been piled up beneath the fake tree. Hesitantly, he accepted the box, glancing to Misaki for approval. All work had ceased to observe the reaction of an outsider, and Misaki beamed back his satisfaction._

 _Inside he found a spherical object made of something brittle like porcelain which could be hung by a golden thread. Unlike the other ornaments on the tree of varying, size, shape, and color, that one was about as standard as possible. It was a matte grey with silver, engraved snowflakes. They clearly had better known what he_ wouldn't _want them to get rather than what he_ would _, but he was relieved it hadn't turned out to be some reindeer gingersnap cookie with a cinnamon Jelly Bean for a nose. That being more along the lines of what he imagined he would get from them would have been way beyond his tolerance for strong tastes._

 _"Come on! Hang it on the tree!" Misaki urged, rushing over to pull Fushimi to his feet._

 _Even after having received the gift, it took a while for Fushimi to realize they actually wanted to include him in their festivities._

 _"Put it anywhere you want. It'll be there every year. Trust me; I'll make sure of it," Misaki rambled on as his friend tried to mathematically analyze the optimal placement of his only ornament in the catastrophic organization by the Yata family. As soon as he settled on a branch dead center, he was unexpectedly swept into a group hug._

 _Megumi latched onto his legs, Minoru around his waist, and Misaki over his shoulders. Fushimi wondered what he had done to deserve such torture while the parents looked on in approval._

The picture his step-father had taken that day was the first thing to come to mind when Hayashi had snapped, "Don't say 'a Christmas tree.'" That disarray of colors and patterns really was how their tree looked every year, so the comparison was not unfounded.

He snickered at the memory, a little bittersweet. That had been a great day, but it was all in the past. The time it had taken him to process it, though, was enough to condemn him in Azami's eyes, and he had to hurry to correct the misunderstanding.

"I wasn't going to!" he swore.

"Yeah right," the girl he had unintentionally offended pouted in her mismatched outfit and her bum leg.

Ringlet curls tumbled over her shoulders, framing her face that had been lightly dusted with artificial color. He wasn't used to it, seeing her in such a feminine light, and he couldn't get his wits about him.

Anna interrupted the standoff then. Whether it was intentional or the pure heart of a child speaking, she declared, "Emi made us pretty. What do you think?"

Yata managed to mutter the single word under his breath, "Pretty," before blushing wildly and storming into the kitchen, proclaiming once more that he had to feed the fish.

Azami watched him go with a smirk on her beautified face and called after him, "Are we keeping the fish in the fridge now or something? I hadn't noticed."

The red-faced skater appeared in the doorway a moment later and stalked across the room to the real location of the aquatic creatures without looking at any of the females. Fortunately for him, more additions to the bar saved him from any further ridicule for the moment. Four more boys entered and were greeted first thing by the two women and their little Princess-who-was-now-King dolled up for their enjoyment (being that they were the only ones who would ever see it.)

Dewa was the first to come in and hold the door open for his companions, continuing to do so long after it was necessary as he stood in silent surprise at the sight. Bandou was next, though it took him a little longer to notice since he initially shyly tried to avoid looking at them. But once he glanced up to acknowledge his King and saw her getup, he froze still and openly stared behind his sunglasses. Shouhei had been chatting animatedly with Chitose and didn't notice his friend had stopped short until he met Bandou's back with his face.

"San-chan, what's up?" he inquired, rubbing his nose while he peeked around the other boy to ascertain the disturbance. His face brightened once more at their guests and he waved, seeming not to be affected by the change, as if he had always expected this day to come. "Hayashi-san, Haruna-san, welcome back!"

Finally, the whole gang arrived when Kusanagi appeared not far behind the others, holding in his hands a small crate of expensive-looking whiskey and a brown, paper packet, both of which were suspiciously small for having gone to see "a supplier." The expression he wore was deeply thoughtful. Behind him, the last of their companions arrived—Kamamoto who was expertly carrying two medium crates under one arm and a larger one balanced up on one shoulder, Fujishima also carrying two medium crates stacked in his arms, and Eric trailing behind with one lone box. None of these took much notice of the girls right away as they were somewhat busy packing the abundance of alcohol to the bar and, being that two of them were usually pretty silent, Kamamoto was eventually the only one to spare them an approving smile.

In comparison to Yata's resilient moods, Kusanagi clearly took some effort to smile wryly at his female guests.

"Good afternoon, ladies," he greeted politely.

Anna looked up at him from the center of the room with a hopeful sparkle in her eyes that he might respond where Yata hadn't. She was wearing her red jumper over a winter blouse, but what really stood out was her new updo. Her hair had been twisted up in back of her head with the ends left free and standing up behind her crown, creating a halo of playful spikes. Ribbons were woven through the back to add a dash of crimson.

Kusanagi recalled getting the text message that interrupted his meeting. _Can Anna wear lipstick?_ Emi had asked. Somewhat in a rush, he hadn't given it much thought. She was almost twelve; that was old enough to make her own decision on the matter. Now that he saw the pink tint of her subtle smile, a protective fatherly side of him activated. Inside a little fire wanted to wipe her face clean and keep the eight year old they had originally adopted.

His reasonable nature knew it was impossible to ensure that and tried to be supportive of her new maturity. "Y'all look nice."

Then his glance fell upon Emi who seated herself beside Azami on the couch to fix a curl that had loosened, and he choked. Her strawberry hair was split into two uneven parts which had each been sloppily French braided. Fly-away's framed the yellows and browns of her face, and he couldn't help but stare in shock at the disaster.

Emi explained with a light flush that complimented her peachy complexion, "We taught Anna how to braid. She did pretty good for her first time."

He admired Emi's ability to give such a compliment in spite of her disheveled appearance, and her determination to wear the style. Anna stood tall, proud of her accomplishment, and no one dared to spoil it, though Azami did give him a grin over the back of the couch and then gently smoothed a couple fluffy strands to make the style a little tamer.

Chitose showed his support, too, in sauntering over them and drawling, "Get a load of you girls, looking all fine." He parked at the end of the couch and appeared to be considering taking the open seat. "You goin' on a date?"

Emi started to answer, but Azami was faster out of the gate. She gave the flirtatious man a sidelong look of mischief and crossed her good leg overtop that off her partner in crime with faux suggestion. "Oh yeah, we've got a hot night indoors planned."

Emi's face took on a deeper pink hue at the familiarity, but she played along anyway, glad the Green Girl was feeling comfortable. With a light laugh to hide her awkward feelings, she linked arms with the tomboy and hummed her agreement.

"Doin' what? Watching romantic movies?"

"Ew. No," Azami replied shortly. "Those are too sappy. We're gonna…" She gave Emi a contemplative look, knowing they were right back where they started before they decided to do makeovers.

"Play a board game?" Shouhei suggested and Emi wondered why she hadn't thought of that.

"What kind?" she inquired and Chitose groaned softly in the background.

"Checkers?" Dewa proposed.

While that could have appealed to Azami since she could be a pretty sound strategist when she was in the right mood, Yata was not, and if they wanted to involve more people, they would need to think of something else. The resounding mumbles of dispute also seemed to support that.

"One of those murder scenario ones?" Kamamoto said next.

"That one doesn't have enough pawns for all of us," Shouhei disagreed.

"What about the drawing one Tatara made?" Anna voiced quietly.

Emi's eyes returned to her lap at the mention and the air suddenly became still.

"We all had fun with that one," Bandou admitted quietly.

"Ah, where did I put that?" Kusanagi wondered aloud.

"Downstairs?" Yata guessed and a nod from the bar master meant he thought that was right. Determined to always keep Anna happy, the vanguard volunteered, "I'll go get it."

"So we need teams then," Chitose finally conceded in defeat. "How should we divide up?"

"Boys against girls?" suggested Bandou.

"Three against nine? In what universe would that be fair?" Azami pointed out and then smirked, adding, "I mean, I realize you guys are at a disadvantage, but that's a little overkill."

A unanimous sound of offense rose up around the bar while the offender laughed at their expense and gave Emi a nudge in the ribs. In reality, though, they were all getting caught up in the happy atmosphere they were all too accustomed to before the year prior. Kusanagi also was not irritated at the noise since it meant that all of his boys as well as their female visitors were on the road to recovery.

"What about by age?" the bartender said.

"You'd be all by yourself, Kusanagi-san!" Shouhei jabbed good-naturedly.

"Watch it," the elder growled with a smile almost entirely devoid of seriousness.

"How about by height?" Eric offered with an impish look they didn't often see on his face.

There were some chuckles of agreement and Bandou cried, "Alright, shorties on _that_ side of the table!"

"The hell did you say, bastard?" Yata barked upon his convenient resurfacing from the basement with game in hand. It took him all of two seconds to charge across the bar, deposit the box on the table, and grab Bandou in a choking headlock.

"So me, Haruna-san, Anna-chan and Red against all of you Giants of Japan?" Azami piped up again, determined to have the odds divided evenly.

Seizing the chance, Chitose at last found a way in and slung an arm around the tomboy's shoulders from standing behind the sofa. "Don't worry, Hayashi-san, Masaomi and I will make a sacrifice and join your team."

"And be a shorty?"

"Just for you," he confirmed with a wink.

She brushed his arm off and leaned across the table to grip Yata's shirt and jerk him away from Bandou (who was starting to turn blue) while in the background Fujishima pointed out, "You're shorter than the rest of us anyway."

The skater pulled away from her soon after and complained, "Why do I have to be on the girls' team?"

"Every princess needs a little lap dog, Chihuahua," Eric jeered.

Yata whirled on him. "You wanna fight?!"

Feeling suddenly like a parent among a bunch of children, Azami took a handful of the hot-tempered boy's shirt to keep him from jumping on Eric next and voiced, "Cool your jets, Red. We'll kick all their asses and then they'll be bowing down to us anyway."

"Hey, that's right!" Realization lit up Yata's enraged mind and he pointed a condescending finger at the ones insulting him. "You guys are playing against the two greatest gamers in Shizume City!"

"Actually, he's right. There's proof of that," the bar master said, gesturing with his cigarette to the bulletin board where a picture of the winners of the Sixth Annual Shizume City Arcade Tournament was proudly posted.

"Kusanagi-san, you're supposed to be supporting your team!" Rikio reminded with a laugh to which the older man shrugged.

With an excited whoop, Yata began the game by shouting, "Let's do this!"

"But first…Can we get some snacks?" the large Red Clansman asked hopefully.

With an extra large mixing bowl of popcorn in the middle of the table and through the luck of a coin toss, "Team Giants" got to go first to which they joked about "The Shorties" getting off to a bad start. By an even greater stroke of luck, it was card marked for a competition between all teams which rendered their remark invalid to the displeasure of the taller males.

Shouhei was pushed to the table to be the first Giant to draw since he suggested they play the game in the first place. The opposers regarded first their vanguard and visiting Green Clansman since they were the proclaimed top gamers. Azami looked into Yata's face with question while Yata looked blankly somewhere past the curls by her ear.

"Alright, I'll go," the female volunteered and took the card from Shouhei. Upon reading the object to draw, she raised an eyebrow and wondered with a short laugh, "Where'd this game come from?"

"Totsuka-san made his own," Dewa supplied. "He wanted it to have more interesting terms and include some fandoms."

Azami laid the card facedown and picked up her pencil, remarking with approval, "I knew I liked that guy."

When the time to start was announced, pencils flew across the little scraps of paper with as much precision as the looks of concentration on the artists' faces. At least, as much precision as the short amount of time to accomplish the task would allow. As the incarnation of the mystery word slowly came to fruition, wild guesses were thrown out by both sides in the race to get the correct answer first.

"Box. Moving."

"Trash can!"

"Dump truck."

"Transformer."

There was excited gesturing from the mute artists and the participant for the Giants drew a blob of what could have been a person inside his.

"Shouhei, what is _that_?"

The Shorties leaned in close as, with a few last swift flourishes of her hand, Azami's sketch was mostly completed. Hand to her face, she considered any other additions she could make to hint the answer more clearly. However, it seemed that was not necessary.

"Oh, it's a mecha?" Dewa voiced.

"Yeah!" Azami cheered and high-fived her partner.

"Wait a minute. Is that graffiti?" Shouhei speculated as he leaned over the table to compare notes with his competition.

The drawing was sloppy as it had been done quickly, but it had a distinct bubbly look to it with thick lines to accentuate the exaggeration of a boxy robot in a fighting pose. Azami lowered her head shyly, her bangs falling forward to hide her eyes.

"Maybe…"

"Are we allowed to use graffiti in this game? It uses a lot of symbols," Kamamoto pointed out.

"That's right" and "Yeah, it does" were agreements from his other teammates.

The female started and poked a finger at her paper. "Oh, come on! I didn't even use any arrows! There's no words on it! That's just the only style I can draw in!"

Laughter followed her outburst to show they had only been teasing to rile her up, and it worked. But it went a bit further when Chitose pushed another scrap of stationary in front of her.

"Why don't you prove it to them? Draw something without using graffiti."

A look of pondering crossed her face and then a bit of shame as she scribbled down a sad-looking stick person.

"Hey! That's how I draw!" Bandou confessed.

"Don't mock my skills! We got it right, didn't we?"

"Let her be; she's had a long past few days," Kusanagi chuckled from where he was shining a glass, filling the role of a floater for his team; not inclined to draw, he would guess if he thought he knew the answer.

With the matter settled by their elder, Yata took the liberty of rolling the dice while, in the meantime, Anna tugged on Azami's sleeve. When her attention was captured, the younger girl inquired, "Can I draw this time?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," the Green Girl submitted, forking over her pencil and sliding a clean sheet of paper in front of her.

The Red King studied the card Yata handed to her and, with a look of determination, she began her creation when the stopwatch was started. Her teammates crowded closer around her small form and stared with interest as she drew a bowl with a spoon and several ingredients. Then the guessing started.

"Lunch."

"Cooking show."

"Groceries."

The food items surrounding the bowl were given chibi faces and Azami exchanged a confused glance with Chitose and Dewa.

"Veggie Tales?"

"Soup?" Emi tried which earned her a small nod.

A chubby face was drawn on a plain blob and this was circled as the object of interest. After a second more, the Red King's vanguard got an idea.

"Ah, it's a dumpling, right, Anna?"

"A dumpling?" his teammates echoed him.

"Yeah," he affirmed. "Here's the carrot, little bean spouts, and a cabbage…it's Gyoza."

The young girl gave a tiny smile of pride and announced, "Misaki's right."

"Right on time, Yata-san!" Kamamoto congratulated him.

Letting out a cheer, Yata rolled again for them and decided it was his turn to lead their team onward to victory. He brandished his pencil like a weapon for smiting their opposers and picked up his card with a look of such confidence…

That quickly fell when he saw the action he was supposed to create. "Huh? How the hell am I supposed to draw that?"

"Let us see," Bandou said and Yata held the card away from his reach.

"Who's drawing for you guys? It's for all teams."

A deterred look came upon the boy in sunglasses and he stepped back, pulling Fujishima between the card and himself. The other gave an unconcerned shrug and accepted the card, also taking on puzzlement at the words, but nodding he was ready a moment later.

Yata's drawing began with a simple ninja which got the appropriate deductions. Then the ninja became surrounded by rice balls, fish, and an orb with a tongue of flame inside. These additions earned confused looks and a less correct answer.

"The ninja is going camping?" said Emi.

Yata shook his head and drew another ninja with a more decorated getup. He followed this with another in front of them who was bigger and had something akin to armor on his outfit.

"Team of assassins," Azami spoke.

That earned them another head shake and Yata drew a rectangular bar above each character.

"It's a fandom, right?" Chitose assumed incorrectly which began a stream of answers that were way off topic and sent their artist into frantic scribbles, trying to lead them back in the right direction.

But it was all for naught as, on the opposing team, Eric voiced, "He's leveling up?" and a shout of victory arose.

"Level up?" Azami repeated and looked again at Yata's creation with scrutiny.

"Yeah! The weak ninja is collecting items and getting stronger. Look, he had armor!" Yata explained.

"That's what you were doing? What is that?" She poked a finger at the rectangles above them.

"That's his XP bar! Some gamer you are…"

"You just suck at drawing."

Yata glared at her and then grabbed for Fujishima's paper. "How the hell did you get that?"

Carefully sketched with unexpected talent, Fujishima had made a small man with a moustache and overalls, then a mushroom, then a bigger version of the same man.

"See? You were making it too complicated. If you just did that, I would have got it right away."

"That's a stupid thing for the one who uses graffiti to say!"

"Your luck is fading," Bandou jeered.

"What was that?" Yata barked.

Abruptly Emi slipped between the two loudest of her teammates and grabbed the recently emptied snack bowl before another fight broke out with the excuse "I'm going to get some chips" and scurried off to the kitchen.

 _What would Tatara do?_ Emi seemed to be asking herself this question frequently since his death. She was a calm person, unexcitable, unshakable. That was how they expected her to be; that was how she knew herself. Then why couldn't she stop shaking?

These were her friends, so why was she afraid?

Dexterity failed her miserably in that moment, adding further to her frustration. It made no sense for her to be so unnerved, but reasoning with herself could not overcome the emotional response. She had thought distancing herself from the center of activity would help her calm herself. Rather, she couldn't even manage to rip open the bag of curry flavored rice crisps she told everyone she had gone to fetch.

In uncharacteristic irritation she threw the snacks across the counter and then internally scolded herself for such an open loss of temper. The question came back to mind: _What would Tatara do?_

Tatara had to be her guide in this situation. Despite everything, he had always seen the brighter side. No matter the level of stress laying on him or his friends, he had always kept a cool head. _It'll all work out somehow._ She tried repeating his philosophy to herself like a mantra with minimal effect.

Maybe the trouble with seeking his advice was that he had never been overcome with nerves. His personality wasn't susceptible to break downs. She knew better than to be deceived like that. Totsuka had certainly felt the pressure at times, and she had seen it behind the ever optimistic face he showed. The truth strength of his that she sought was that ability to convince oneself to set the fear aside.

Emi's shoulders tensed and she gasped lightly when a voice came from behind her. "You alright?"

Kusanagi stood there in the entrance to his kitchen, leaned up against the frame. In his hand a lighter flicked open and closed, ready at a moment's notice to spring to life and set flame to the cigarette hanging from his mouth which had slurred his words. The plan seemed to be on hold until he could verify Emi was fine.

Determined to be strong like Tatara, she faced the bar's owner squarely. His own face was weary but sincere, and she immediately felt her honest tears coming forth. Forcing the sobs down resulted in a rigid shiver, and she looked at the floor hoping to hide the water pooling on her lashes. Emi knew there was no sense in lying to the man who had known Totsuka best.

Managing half a pained smile, the girl asked the least burdensome question she could think of in a strained voice. "What do you do when it's all too much?"

With a snort, the man demonstrated by raising a flame to his mouth. "Smoke."

He watched her reaction as he took the first drag on the cigarette he carried. Her lips were slightly agape in conflict, and she stared at the red ember drawing up the thin cylinder, her values and her desperation contending for dominance.

Recognizing this Kusanagi quickly added, "But I wouldn't suggest it. Nasty habit. It gives you wrinkles and hardly even works." He smiled wryly as if making a joke out of the truth, yet he didn't go so far as to say he would ever consider quitting.

Emi tried to reply sensibly, but her voice cut out entirely. Unwanted tears overflowed onto her cheeks, and even she couldn't understand the reason.

"Oi!" The startled exclamation came automatically out of his mouth because of her abrupt mood change. Hadn't she just been having fun with everyone else? He made a quick recovery from the surprise, however, stubbing his half-used cigarette out in the sink to pull the distressed girl into his arms. Her cheek buried into his chest at just the right height for him to stroke her hair comfortingly.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"It's going to happen again," Emi revealed her concern in a way that made no sense to anyone but her.

Kusanagi did his best to pry gently, "What's gonna happen?"

Her words were jolted by the knots in her diaphragm. "Something bad. Tatara... Without him, it's just... It feels like that will happen again."

He still wasn't sure he understood entirely, but he thought he knew just what she needed to hear. "Now, now, Haruna-chan. You know you can count on us whenever you need anything. We won't let anyone get away with hurting you."

She sniffled a little and took courage. "I know," she accepted with a heartened smile, once more standing on her own feet.

"With how much you mean to us, Anna in particular, just call, and we'll be there faster than you can imagine."

Emi nodded. "Thank you."

He gave her a soft pat on the shoulder. "Now let's get these snacks before the boys eat the entire front end of this establishment."

That got a giggle out of the girl, and they returned to the game with a bowl full of curry chips.

"Kusanagi-san, tell them they can't give hints with their voice," Kamamoto requested upon their reentry.

"I didn't give him a hint. It's just 'cause Masaomi knows me so well," Chitose defended himself.

"Not like that time when we were playing charades and Yata-san was making sound effects," Dewa added. " _Those_ were obvious verbal hints."

Kamamoto laughed across from the boy in question and reenacted the scenario, saying, "'Mooooo!' I wonder what that could be?"

"That's not what happened!" Yata argued.

Shouhei chimed in, making an explosion noise and raising his hands slowly through the air with his drink held between them. "Hmm…there's no way that could be a rocket!"

"He can't help it. A loud-mouth is just who he is," Eric pointed out.

"Shut up!" the subject of their teasing snapped at his friends.

On the edge of the group, Azami had fallen into a fit of giggles that reduced her to sitting on the arm of one of the sofas and holding the bruised side of her body.

Kusanagi gave her an amused smile once Emi had settled back down with her team. "I'm glad to see our patient is having a good time."

Regaining her breath and wincing a little at the pain in her ribs, Azami expounded, "It reminded me of this time when my partner Shun and I infiltrated a Scepter 4 crime scene. We came up with our own hand signals so we could communicate and no one would notice. But when we got home a bunch of our Clan were playing cards in pairs in the dining hall. Shun and I were put on opposite sides of our table and we could see each other's opponent's cards so we were signing to each other the whole time. Kazuki was _so_ mad when he figured out how I beat him."

At the mention of her clansmen, Azami's disposition shifted. Her face fell and her giggles abruptly subsided, the tolerable pain in her ribs was replaced with an uncomfortable knot in her gut. Since Kusanagi had turned away to return to his position behind the bar and all the others were getting wrapped up in their game again, no one noticed the change but the girl who suddenly had a need for some alone time.

Since the next round was about to begin, she tapped Emi on the shoulder. "I gotta make a pit stop. Can you play for me?"

Emi nodded her acceptance and the Green Girl left her spot on the couch with the intention of finding somewhere secluded to collect herself.

Yata noticed her departure. "Where're you going?"

The female gave him a look over her shoulder. "Bathroom. Wanna come?"

His face instantly flushed scarlet and sputtering he almost fell over backwards in his hurry to wave his hands in defense before swiftly turning back to his own business of minding the game.

At last Bandou could no longer slough off his turn on his teammates, and Chitose roughly forced him to keep the drawn card. When the timer started, he lived up to the lack of skill he had claimed. Two stick figures appeared on the blank page. The female - recognizable because of the triangle skirt and the side ponytail - was strikingly taller than the male with shark tooth bangs.

"Is it a mother and son?" Shouhei tried to give a guess in support of his long time friend, but the hooded young man shook his head.

Taking advantage of every chance he got to tease the clan's vanguard, Eric smirked, amused by his own guess. "Yata and Haruna-san."

The boy on the short team took the bait. "I am not shorter than her!" He insisted desperately.

The bar errupted in laughter and mockery. "Yata-san is shorter than a girl," was the general consensus. Growing ever more furious, Yata was about to launch himself across the table again to knock sense into them, sweating vehemently that it wasn't true.

A calm voice broke through the crowd, and everyone stopped to listen. "Actually," Emi mentioned, "I think I might be taller."

"Eh? -the hell?" Yata demanded of the young lady in question without any of the manners he usually reserved for her kind.

She repeated gently, "I think I'm taller than you."

"No way is that possible!" He shot back, puffing out his chest like that could help him increase his height.

"Obviously it's not as extreme as what the drawing depicts..."

"Let's settle this now! Stand up."

"Are you sure you want to take that chance? What if she really is taller than you?" Shouhei goaded them on, implicating the fellow clansman's pride.

"Yata-san, just let it go," Kamamoto pleaded, even though he knew his long time friend never would.

Emi also didn't let the accusation slide, in her own quiet way joining in the tease. Setting aside the blanket her legs had shared with Anna's, she stood to her feet, back straight and head raised high. If there was a difference, it wasn't easily notable. That fact was not ignored by the rest of Homra.

"Ah, it's the same," she stated, not particularly concerned with being microscopically accurate.

Shoving his index finger at the opposing team, Yata repeated, "See, it's the same!"

Even as Eric snickered, "He's barely the same height as a girl," Yata recognized the implications and changed his mind.

"I mean, almost the same, not like that picture. I'm definitely still taller. By like a centimeter, see?" To demonstrate, he held his hand flat over the top of his head and raised it into the air above Emi.

"Don't stand on your tiptoes," Chitose chided.

"I'm not!" The boy grew louder the more they ganged up on him.

"We see eye to eye," Emi pointed out. She left the conclusion up to interpretation, "So unless you have an oblong forehead..."

That seemed to give the crowd an idea, and Shouhei shouted out, "It's the hat!"

"You're cheating, Yata-san. You've got hot air tucked up in your beanie making you look taller." Fujishima chimed in. Not that he was one to talk; his spiky hair added quite a lot of height.

Still Yata bit at the bait. "I do not!"

"Then take the hat off and prove it," Eric taunted. "Or are you afraid, Chihuahua?"

He didn't refuse and ripped the hat from his head. "See? I'm not any shorter?"

"Maybe from your perspective," Dewa mumbled from a seat behind him. Everyone agreed; it was clear. With Yata's chestnut hair plastered flatly against his scalp, it was easy to see Emi's head rose above his.

Convinced he had lost the argument, Yata turned his eyes dejectedly to the floor. There, next to his black sneakers, was a dainty pair of rounded toe pumps. A sudden realization reinvigorated him, and he accused the culprit.

"You're wearing heels!"

Surprised, Emi looked down to her own feet as if she had forgotten she was wearing shoes at all. They were comfortable, one of her go-to pairs that went with almost everything. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind, but sure enough there was a slight heel. Sheepish from her mistake, Emi smiled mildly and slipped out of her shoes. She dropped a bit, her eye level falling to his nose.

"All that, and she was just wearing heels," Bandou complained, scolding his team. "The buzzer went minutes ago, and you guys didn't even guess!"

Chitose let out a hearty laugh at the opponents who had distracted themselves into losing a turn.

Then, Kusanagi proved his worth in the game, holding out the timer. "Paused it soon as the arguing began. I'm not going to lose because of childish shenanigans."

As he resumed the countdown, Shouhei urged his friend, "San-chan, We have no idea what that is! Draw something else!"

* * *

Once the door to the restroom shut out the noise and the lock latched, Azami leaned heavily on the sink. This had happened before—this guilty feeling—the night that they had returned from defeating the Black Clan and rescuing Emi. Just like now, they were having a good time and she had started thinking of her home with the Green Clan, missing her new family. Her being had filled with a sense of her betrayal and she had felt bad for ever letting the Reds gain any of her loyalty. She was an electric green spark in this sea of flames. She didn't belong here so what was she doing here? Shouldn't she be having fun with her own people?

 _Betrayal._ Fushimi had tried to convince her that her own clan must have turned on her for her to end up in the hospital and, if that was true, the situation was reversed this time. So why did she feel like she had done something wrong by accepting the Red Clan's help? They were kind of like an alternate place where she belonged now, too, but could she really say that? Sure, she fit in with a loud group of renegades well enough, but she didn't have the HOMRA bond. She possessed the aura of the Green King. Even now, here in this place of hot, suffocating red, she could feel it pulsing through her, bright and full of life. How could something so refreshing be a source of betrayal for her?

 _She'd been lied to._ Souma had led her to believe that she had been chosen directly by the Green King, but he was never the King at all! Still, he had been acting with that authority and he had protected her and the rest of the clan with the decorum that a King should actually have. He had saved her and there was no way she could believe someone who had gone to that length would now try to kill her, nor could she ever believe her brother-like partners, Kazuki and Shun, could ever be capable of something so diabolical. But even so, her mind buzzed with the unanswered question of who she could trust.

Cheers erupted from outside the door coupled with groans of defeat. Those were good people out there—sometimes lacking in manners and common cents, crude, or boisterous, but good all the same. And since she had helped them, Totsuka-san had told her they were in her debt. Now that he was gone, she wasn't sure how much meaning that still held, but Kusanagi-san seemed determined to make her feel welcome and safe. Though she continued to feel guilt over it, she had to admit: she did feel protected, happy, and like she belonged. But how long would that last?

She looked at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She was tired and she hurt so it couldn't be such a terrible idea to hang around for a little while, right? Focusing on her eyes in the glass, she coached herself through a couple of slow breaths to relax—in through her nose, out through her mouth. She felt her tension ease a bit and her battered flesh again spoke to her about its discomfort. Maybe that was contributing to her instability at the moment. She withdrew the vial of pills from her pocket, popped a dose into her mouth, ran some water from the faucet into her cupped hand, and swallowed it down. Hopefully that would help.

She shifted toward the door and dried her hand on her pant leg, listening to the ruckus outside with a little apprehension. It was then that she heard Yata loudly proclaiming his surety of their victory and a small smile made its way back to her face. She turned the latch and made her way back to be greeted by Dewa's voice.

"Come on, Hayashi-san! We're falling behind!"

Azami let a smirk slide onto her expression and she said, "Nonsense! We are Team Kickass and we will _not_ be defeated!"

* * *

 ** _High five to anyone who can guess what Bandou was drawing!_**


	13. The Way of Tea

_**As promised. Also, welcome AlexMaria!**_

* * *

The day was marked on the calendar of the Fourth Annex's event schedule as "Ro," the day of the sunken hearth. It was an annual ceremony that was well known as existing across Japan with day and time depending on each family. Scepter 4 unanimously believed no one insisted on performing the tradition as religiously as their king. Each year in December an entire day was set aside simply to transform their headquarters from its summer condition to winter.

Every clansman was expected to make all the adjustments to their own dorms and departments, including changing the alignment of the tatami mats in places where that applied. That allowed various personalities to effectuate their tasks as they saw fit. Those who took less interest in such things fulfilled only the requirements. Namely, Fushimi thought the entire thing was exaggeratedly overdone. Agreedly, aspects of it were necessary, such as unpacking the heavy, winter blankets for the bed, or checking to ensure no mold had grown on items untouched throughout the humid summer.

Even obligatory tasks such as these were unpleasant enough, what with the dust and manual labor involved. After accomplishing what he must, he was too exhausted to deal with participating in the ridiculous traditions. Others lightened their loads by working alongside their friends or roommates. Akiyama and Benzai, for example, took great pleasure in digging their kotatsu out of storage to once more fall under the spell of the warmth of a small table.

Gotou spent much of the day polishing and rearranging his exotic souvenirs with great care. At one point, Hidaka left the room to retrieve something from storage. Upon his return, strange music could be heard through the door. He lingered outside the door, trying to juggle two heavy boxes, and fretted over the foreign sounds. _What if part of the fall customs were to sacrifice to the possessed idols?_ On the other hand, maybe the reason they glared at him at night was because he never had participated in such rituals to appease them.

The visions were clear in his mind, as if he were seeing them at the very instant - beedy eyes, hollow eyes, red eyes, mouths twisted in anguish or bearing massive fangs. Some were adorned with preserved animal parts; others appeared more like creatures from the spirit realm. A disturbed shiver tickled Hidaka down his spine and across his shoulders.

Setting the boxes on the floor beside the door, he decided maybe it would be best if he just came back later. Then, he shook away the goosebumps and turned to leave. Right behind him was a pale face with droopy eyelids, motionless like a ghost. Startled, Hidaka jumped back, tripping over both boxes in an attempt to escape. His vision swam from hitting his head on the wall, but from his new position on the floor, feet above his chest, he could tell the scare had once more come from his roommate.

Gotou stated in a flat voice, "I hurried over to open the door for you. Guess I was too late."

"Hurried from where?" Hidaka's voice cracked in terror. As impossible as it seemed, the only possible explanation coming to mind was that his roommate could move through the walls.

"I saw you from down the hall."

"Down the...?"

"Yes. I went to the storeroom because I remembered I had this in there from my trip to Wales. I thought Fushimi might like to see it."

The object held, outstretched in his hand, was flat like a picture frame, only in a shape more like a strawberry. In its four equal quadrants, clockwise, were blue and yellow checkers, some deer-like animal with long, twisted horns, several fur de lis, and a warrior under the moon. Hidaka stared in bewilderment at the antique souvenir.

"A whale gave that to you?"

Gotou corrected harshly, "They're called the Welsh, not whales. I bought it in _Wales,_ in the United Kingdom."

"Never mind that," the brunette brushed his mistake aside. "More importantly, what makes you think Fushimi-san wants to see that?"

Despite the cynical tone, Gotou proceeded to give a full brief of the crime scene he had examined with their superior. From the conversation he had with the police department to the lack of evidence indicating the murder had taken place on sight, he left out not a single detail, except the most important part. By the end of his description his friend appeared even more confused.

"Since then we've continued our investigation with the assumption that the suspects are planning more than just a series of isolated felonies. Fushimi was able to find surveillance cameras showing the middle Mouri brother was the one to drop the body at the reported location, but it wasn't like he had been trying to hide his face either. He looked straight into the camera as if stating they aren't intimidated by us at all. We haven't exactly shown them a reason to be afraid though. But we have found the location of the actual crime."

Having rambled a very thorough update on the progress of his case, Gotou abruptly changed subjects without at all explaining of what use the funky artifact could be to Fushimi. "Oh! I nearly forgot! This year everyone whose first syllable of their last name ends in 'O' is in charge of the winter transformation of the dojo. I'm late for duty." Handing his precious item to his roommate, he rushed off with the request, "If you run into Fushimi, give him that for me."

"What am I supposed to tell him?" Hidaka called after his retreating back.

"He'll know what to do with it!"

The lone, blue clansman sighed and set the relic down on the boxes he had intended to bring to his dorm. Hefting the pile into his arms, he reached for the door only to hear shuffling amidst the ethnic music within. A shiver ran down his spine once more. _If Gotou wasn't in the room, what was?_

The meditation and sword skill training dojo of the fourth annex was as old fashioned as a traditional building could possibly be. It consisted mainly of a large, wooden hall, minimally adorned, encircled by a deck of the same material. Left of the main entrance, bamboo doors had been slid as far open as was possible, and a pile of boots was stacked beside it.

Andy Doumiyouji stood at the front, resting his hands on a push broom as if ready at any moment to call out commands. In spite of the bold color of his hair, the fact that he was raised in a martial arts family was clear by his posture, his attire, and the square cloth tied around his head to pull back his hair. Adding to that his former position at the head of one of the Swordsman Divisions, he made an obvious choice for cleanup leader.

Behind him, the shrine was already sparkling with fresh polish, clearly indicating how late Gotou was for the assignment. People whose first syllable of their last name ended with 'O' were scattered about the facility with moist rags for mopping or other push brooms. It was all very classic Japanese, even though only one other clansmen had come dressed for the occasion.

Doi worked silently at his self-assigned task of changing out the water in everyone else's buckets when it became dirty. It was an extremely practical action, even if no one recognized that it was continuously being done by a dark haired, shodan of Doumiyouji-sensei. Occasionally, no buckets needed to secretly be refilled, and Doi nestled himself beside the bamboo, practice swords at the back of the hall to carefully observe where he wouldn't be in anyone's way.

During one of these lulls, Hotaru deliberately sought out her "partner in crime." Under the guise of resting from her hard labor, she leaned against the wall nearby him. The miniskirt assigned to the females of the blue clan was hardly conducive to physical labor. Having no particular desire to assemble any other outfit, she had simply thrown on a pair of pencil pants under the standard blouse of the Scepter 4 uniform - which she never failed to affix one button higher than the lieutenant. The grey, skin tight pants were thicker than leggings and stretchier than jeans, making them ideal for comfort while working hard, something she hadn't exactly been doing.

"Did you get the video yet?" She asked of Doi without making eye contact, as if the information they were exchanging might be considered clandestine.

The boy with spy-like secrecy could have revealed the progress he had made in the matter. He could have mentioned the request he had submitted to obtain it. To say whether or not he had acquired the contraband in question, however, would be to show his hand prematurely. Basic principles of covert operations indicated that would be a major mistake.

Sweat glistened on Doi's face despite the cloth drying his black hair, in stark contrast to Hotaru who had decided dusting off the baseboards had worn her out, and he replied evasively, "Have you conveyed the intel to the superiors?"

The female responded in the most flabbergasted deadpan he had ever seen so that he couldn't tell if she had forgotten entirely or simply didn't expect him to insist that the exchange be simultaneous. Then, sheepishly she excused, "A situation hasn't presented itself."

Doi was greatly disappointed in her clear lack of effort, but he made no show of emotion. Holding up an external USB drive, he replied, "Then, I guess this will have to wait."

He slipped it inside the layered chest piece of the dogi he wore and turned back to his self-inflicted labor. The method had its desired effect, giving Hotaru greater determination than before to confront Fushimi on the matter. Disregarding her work orders, she stormed out of the practice hall just as Doumiyouji loudly proclaimed Gotou's punishment for arriving late.

"The only remaining task yet to be claimed is reparation of the paper screens."

Gotou groaned loudly. The Japanese design was incredibly fragile, requiring a delicate touch which served in most cases as a reminder to appreciate the talent of the original craftsman. In the case of the Fourth Annex, Munakata required his clan to be nearly as self-sustaining as possible, possessing every necessary skill regardless of its obsolescence. That included repairing paper screens.

* * *

Hotaru didn't know where she would find Fushimi, but she decided to check first at his desk in the central control room. Somewhat to her surprise, he was seated right there typing rapidly away at the terminal she had recently failed to access. It almost seemed as if he had noticed her coming from afar because, as she approached, he stood from the computer and went to retrieve something that was printing a few feet away.

Vaguely she remarked at the oddity of this otherwise normal sight. All work was cancelled for the holiday of "Ro," and even the captain himself was known to take the day off every year. Unless he was working up the schedule of festivities, she couldn't imagine him alone toiling over official business.

Either way didn't matter, as she intended to address him regardless. "Fushimi," she began, harsh and disrespectful, "we need to talk."

The disgruntled third-in-command faced her just long enough to send her a condescending glance. He didn't plan on listening to a single more of that science nerd's complaints. Even though he resented being called to report to the king when he had been trying to recover from dusting his unused closet shelf, that sounded like a pleasant alternative over any social obligations he had towards the girl with bourbon hair.

Briefly flashing the paper that had printed, he claimed, "The captain requested this pronto. You'll have to wait."

He walked away without another word.

Another uninvited interruption blocked Fushimi's path on the way to Munakata's office. Enomoto and Fuse walked by, chatting quietly amongst themselves without bothering the fellow blue clansman, otherwise known as "Second Glasses" by one of the two. He appeared to be on a mission, so they let him be and strolled on by.

They had been selected via process of elimination to clean the stables where Shiroan Nikomi Tofu was housed. As two clansmen more inclined to spend their days with video games than animals, working with their resident, strain horse always turned out to be a troublesome feat. For years it had seemed like a ridiculous redundancy to have a stable with so many stalls, until a horse appeared in the center of Tokyo's metropolitan area with the ability to transform itself into a white Pegasus. Not much was yet known in the matter of animal strains, but as more continued to appear without the intellectual decision making capabilities of a human, the annex was the safest place for them to be held.

Shiroan Nikomi Tofu was rather well behaved when nothing had it emotionally upset, at which point its powers were unleashed without restraint. "Saru's Crane," as the second discovered animal strain had almost immediately been named, was oppositely almost always in a contrary mood. Like his human counterpart, the bird only agreed to dealings with a certain few clansmen. Whoever he didn't like was met with an ear-shattering, concussive screech. Some unlucky members had actually left the stall with bleeding ears or temporary hearing loss.

The Research and Development Division of the Intelligence Department had since prioritized "strain proofing" the stables in a way that would dampen the Dresden effect. Since then it had become safer to work with the animals. It didn't mean either Enomoto or Fuse enjoyed it.

Having finished prepping the animals for winter, the two men headed straight for the showers to wash off the smell of the outdoors. It was after freshening up that they encountered Fushimi in the hallway. As mentioned before, there was mutual avoidance on the part of all three officers. Fushimi continued on towards the captain's office; whereas, Enomoto and Fuse headed on their way.

The interruption came a few moments later. The path of the two young men crossed that of Hidaka, who was still trying to avoid his own dorm room. Upon inquiry, he explained to them the current situation, including his need to find Fushimi. Nodding his understanding, Enomoto pointed out that they had just passed by the person in question, sending Hidaka out to intercept him.

Fushimi was just arriving at the door to the throne room when Hidaka jogged up to his side. "Good, I caught up to you," he sighed with relief.

The response was a slightly raised eyebrow. He didn't particularly want to be interested, but when the news came from a member of the Special Duty Corps, it occasionally turned out to be important. Such was not the case on that day.

Without delay the taller officer handed over the Welsh artifact. "Gotou asked me to deliver this to you. He said you'd know what to do with it."

Fushimi gave the coat of arms a once over, both front and back, and shrugged. He certainly knew what it was and recalled the description of it Gotou had given at the scene of the crime. He could even agree that the resemblance was noticeable. What he couldn't figure out was why he should care.

A complacent toss of the souvenir, indicating complete disregard for any value it may represent, landed it back in the arms of a startled Hidaka. Bewildered by Fushimi's typical disinterest because of the anticipation built up by his roommate, the messenger inquired, "What am I supposed to tell Gotou?"

For just a brief moment, Fushimi paused in his decision to open Munakata's door. He gave a very straight answer. "I saw it."

Immediately upon entering the grand chamber of the Blue King, Fushimi felt assaulted, but not by anything that would have bothered anyone else. An aroma of cedar wood and baking spices filled the air, which must have been some sort of incense. In a setting so eerily silent one could typically hear the sparkling brilliance of Munakata, Reisi, only Fushimi's skin would crawl when that sound was muted by low level, garden sounds. It suddenly felt like a spa, and Fushimi found himself inexplicably pressing his back against the door as if seeking to reassure himself of the presence of the escape route.

Munakata himself was not seated at his regally bureaucratic desk as usual. In fact, Fushimi had been surprised to receive a message at all from the captain on the holiday. He was currently kneeling on the floor with a pastry in one hand and a magazine in the other. On the left side of the large hall-like office was a raised platform with a particularly out of place appearance. A vented, bamboo fence set it drastically apart from the rest of the room.

Additionally, a pale rose, folding screen diffused the light coming in from the adjacent window. It had depicted on it a seasonally appropriate, historical scene. Fushimi couldn't help but recognize the whole set had already undergone its winter transformation, including the small stove that could serve as a localized heater.

It was in this setting that Munakata knelt, making himself perfectly at ease in such a rigid tradition. Wooden sandals with straps that shoved one's socks between the toes, a robe held together by a single sash at the waist, whose sides parted revealing with any wrong movement, sitting motionlessly in a position that cut off circulation to the legs... It was an ancient culture requiring complete mastery of oneself and conformation Fushimi could never maintain for more than a few minutes. Even the subtle aroma had already overwhelmed him.

Yet Munakata basked in the challenge of accepting such stately customs. He made ultimate control of self and surroundings look somehow relaxing. That was, indeed, the point of those former ceremonies upon which the merit of the wealthy had once been judged.

Across the tatami mat from him, a giant sat cross-legged with a sense of obligation. He didn't want to be there, which was clear enough by the boredom in his sunken eyes, yet it was nearly impossible to refuse an invitation by the king himself. Perhaps the silence and pomp of it all made him uncomfortable. He too didn't belong in the scenario, having already smeared anko on his face from attempting to force a whole pastry in his mouth at once. Another, with a light dusting of some flour to prevent sticking, was squashed by the strong grip of his only hand as he lifted it to his mouth.

Awashima was between them, uncharacteristically clothed in an elaborate kimono that must have been custom made to fit her unusually, endowed shape. She attentively performed a series of customary steps she had learned just for the occasion, and she did her best not to give the impression that she thought the instructions redundant. After all, her king thought such details important, so she would also learn to appreciate them.

In a tea making ceremony, the details truly were important to the overall experience. The paintings on the cup indicated the changing seasons; therefore, keeping the right image facing forward was essential. The cleaning of utensils was done always in the same order that appeared inefficient timewise, but preserved the precious commodity water. Awashima repeatedly set down her clean cloth just to retrieve it again and refold it into a particular shape.

The bamboo wisk used to blend the matcha into the hot water needed to be rinsed before and after use. Each time had its own pattern which, to the untrained eye, could appear to be meaningless squiggles. Rather, each represented a hiragana, which Fushimi neither remembered nor believed to have particular significance.

He received an ominous welcome when the captain lifted his eyes from the magazine and beamed over at him. "Oya, Fushimi-kun, just in time. Care to join us for tea?"

"Uh..." Fushimi glanced around as if searching for some excuse. "I'd rather not."

Ignoring his hesitation, Munakata further urged, "Please sit. We have business to discuss, and Awashima-kun has prepared plenty of desserts for us all."

 _As if that made the prospect more appealing,_ the invitee thought, but he kept any comments of the lieutenant's abnormal taste for red bean paste to himself. Perhaps, he imagined he heard just the slightest plea in Munakata's voice that he aid in consuming the unstomachable sweets. The offer truly seemed to be sincere, however.

With quite some apprehension, Fushimi approached the raised platform, trying to remember if there were any customary stipulations for the guest to follow in the tea ceremony of the sunken hearth. Unable to recall, he settled for simply removing his boots at the step and kneeling across from Awashima. He at least didn't forget to modestly, and as nonperfunctorily as he could manage, thank them for permitting him to join.

Awashima repeated the offer for him to accept some sweets and gently slid the dish containing them towards his knees. He grit his teeth trying to call to mind on the spot the etiquette for a ceremony he had only attended once at a elementary school field trip and reached for the lidded jar with both hands. He knew he had to remove the serving utensils from the lid, hold the lid up to be seen in his left hand, help himself to a dessert, and finish by cleaning off the utensils for the next person's benefit.

A huge weight of tension left the room when Munakata did not look upon his method with great disappointment, and he reminded himself it was safe to breathe. Meanwhile, Awashima had presented the first cup of tea to Munakata who had set aside his magazine temporarily to gratefully appreciate his beverage properly. She acted totally impervious to importance of the demon and the god she was serving and performed ideally.

For his part, Fushimi found it hard not to shift his weight, both from the uncomfortable tingling that had already started in his toes and the contradiction of the men with whom he drank. Zenjou, Gouki grabbed carelessly for another pastry in preparation of his own cup of tea. The clunky movements could be excused as the nature of the beast or an inevitability of having only one arm. Still, it was an unwanted interruption to the peace in which Munakata tranquilly sipped his beverage.

Unlike what Fushimi could have expected, Munakata made no comment until he returned the cup silently to Awashima. She knew what was expected of her then - to rinse the dish, wipe the rim, and dry the inside with a "ゆ" shape before mixing a second serving for Zenjou. Only when the sound of her wisk hitting the sides of the ceramic cup breached the silence did Munakata speak.

He had taken up his magazine once more and quite suddenly inquired, "Hmm, an eleven letter word for 'working as a group' that begins with a 'C'."

Awashima's frothing stopped momentarily, even as a green foam had only just begun to form on the surface of the liquid. No one expected the captain to be the one to interrupt the atmosphere of respect. In turn, Fushimi's brain spoke before his mind.

"Cooperation." The word had come to him effortlessly and slipped his tongue before Awashima's shock had even registered in his mind.

"Ah yes, that is the word indeed," Munakata replied in a deeply implicative tone that Fushimi knew was intended for him but didn't comprehend in the slightest. Without furthering the meaning of pointing such a simple word directly at his subordinate, the mystery of a man excused his own poor manners to his second-in-command who had immediately began to stir the tea furiously.

"My apologies for startling you, Awashima-kun. Because it was impossible to slack in duties at the Mishahara Towers this morning in the current absence of His Majesty, I feel some pressure to combine this year's festivities and other recreational activities with some minor affairs. Please excuse this discourtesy."

The normally cold-hearted woman blushed at the flattery and presented the tea next to Zenjou with the symbol for, "の" carved delicately in the foam. After the man, once recognized for his great sword skill but since exiled to a career of filing, took a huge gulp of the warm liquid, he let out a satisfied, "Aaaaahhh," and plopped the dessert inside his mouth.

Even Munakata's out of place invitation for all to speak freely didn't make such uncouth behavior appropriate. A combination of his own impatience at being forced to participate in the event and trying to compensate for the uncomfortable way it all made Fushimi feel motivated him to change the subject.

"Isn't that...the crossword puzzle _you_ yourself submitted to that journal?"

He remembered in the past having seen the composition in progress on Munakata's desk. Now, barely able to see the page over the king's shoulder, he could easily tell the shape was the same. Moreover, the man had no writing utensil, which meant if he could say with certainty that a word began with the letter 'C,' he was completing the puzzle entirely in his head.

Munakata responded, "Good observation, Fushimi-kun, for this crossword puzzle is, in fact, the one I submitted. When I saw it had been published, I wished immediately to review the final draft to ensure no modifications have been made. It appears to be fully accurate."

Mumbling, Fushimi questioned, "Wouldn't it be easier to just compare it to your copy?"

"I have no copy as I submitted the original directly."

While that may have seemed evident to the enigma that was Munakata, Reisi, his subordinate stared blandly at him for such a nonsensical decision. The man simply continued, "Additionally, while flipping through other articles of which I rarely find much of interest, I happened upon a concept that had never occurred to me. I wish to implement it clan wide in an effort to increase individual productivity. Fushimi, do you have a creative hobby?"

Fushimi blinked a few times before a shocked sound fell out of his parted lips. "Hah?"

"According to the article _Are Your Employees Artists?_ a recent study shows 'those who are allowed up to 20% of their time to unwind with a creative hobby of their choice are more likely to be helpful, collaborative, and creative with their job performance.'" He had read that straight from the article, but then he set it down with a serious face - one of the kinds he got when he believed he had a brilliant idea. Nudging his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, he declared, "I intend to make Scepter 4 the most productive organization ever. By the end of the week every clansman will have taken up a so-called 'creative hobby.'"

Of course, Awashima gleamed in pride at the genius of her king. She would without a doubt extend one of her existing pastimes to be more artistic, perhaps posed photography of her stuffed animal collection, or something like that. Zenjou leaned back against the wall unaffected, slurping his green tea. He was the one member of Scepter 4 yet untouchable by Munakata's piercing influence. Therefore, the message was meant specifically for Fushimi.

He briefly scanned his life, hoping to find some activity he could pass off as a hobby. Occasionally he coded a side project, but he didn't think he'd get away with just that. When Munakata set his mind to something, as absurd as it may be, there was absolutely no stopping him.

Acknowledging he had no other option, Fushimi mumbled, "I'll think of something."

That satisfied their captain's penchant for trying to be more personable in the oddest of ways, and he turned his attention to a small stack of papers on the mat between Awashima and himself. The determination with which he fulfilled his duties regardless of personal cost once again stood in stark contrast to the king under whom Fushimi had formerly served. In that place every day has been a day off. Oppositely, Munakata reserved not a single day exclusively for rest, working even during an uninterruptable tea ceremony on the day of "Ro."

He began to ask for clarification of certain statements made in the reports. Which networks had received their carefully drafted press release? Were any loose rumors floating about that revealed more to the general public than was absolutely necessary?

Fushimi took care not to mention the online forum which had provided him with information before they themselves knew of any situation. After all, even their most mindful watch on public awareness could not prevent the conspiracies in the darkest corners of the web. Thanks to the app JUNGLE Fushimi had discovered much of the secret realm of kings as a middle school student. Therefore, they could only do their best, and the Usagi handled matters that got out of hand.

He shuddered, then, at the cost of security, at the foolish sheep who left their fates in the hands of anonymous servants who paid more heed to the common good than to personal rights. It was each man's own responsibility to discover the truth of the scary world in which they lived or choose to remain in ignorant complacency. Fushimi tried not to think of how easily he could have stayed forever unaware of reality.

Munakata showed particular interest in the news that individual Supes might start to find themselves under threat by the recent rebellion. He inquired extensively into the safety of those strains who were considered rehabilitated into society. They were currently in the process of following up on every known enabled person registered in their system and unaffiliated with a clan.

Fushimi revealed that Enomoto had written a quick filter program that produced a list only of those strains who needed to be contacted. For the last few days several clansmen had been busy making house and phone calls to the people concerned. It appeared most of them had not been recruited, at least not yet. Many had heard word from each other, however, that their lives may soon be at risk. A certain mother of a toddler strain, for example, was in sheer panic at what to do, insisting she had no way of protecting herself or her son against hostility.

To that point they had only been able to offer calming reassurance that Scepter 4 was aware of the danger and working to resolve it. They didn't have any solution for worried parents or retired old men from the first wave of mutations.

Munakata's face suddenly darkened as he at last made known why he had invited Zenjou out of the archives to have tea. "The effected group will likely also include former members of the various clans." He fixed the monster of a man with a piercing stare, not of accusation but rather almost acknowledging the position once held by a fiercesome power.

Zenjou, who had just started to enjoy himself with the refreshments, deflated instantly. It was a task that could only be left to him, whether he desired it or not. Only a couple members of the previous blue clan had been allowed induction into Munakata's organization, and all of them worked in the General Affairs Division under his unwanted and unofficial guidance. To ensure the safety of the other retired members of the past Scepter 4 could only be left in his direction, and - as implied by Munakata's ominous expression - to prevent those same ones from joining the uprising.

"And what if they are in danger?" He asked shortly in his booming voice.

No answer was given, so the question hung heavily in the air between the four while the ceremony continued.

When Awashima passed the cup of matcha to her final guest, she briefly shot him an angry glare at the way he had skillfully eaten only the mochiko dough and left any part that touched the bean paste. But the lieutenant quickly regained her act of delicate composure temporarily. Shortly thereafter the whole guise that this was a traditionally enacted ritual came crashing to an end when the hostess joined their conversation.

She wasn't timid, but in this instance she measured her words carefully. "Didn't the former, surrogate commander of the Fourth Annex once seek refuge for certain clansmen of Habari, Jin at Bar HOMRA because their space and resources were more suited toward harboring the endangered?"

As expected, the suggestion didn't relieve any tension. Fushimi actually found his spine stiffening as he took his first sip of the bitter drink in anticipation of how the captain would respond to that. The twins in question had, in all honesty, been hiding from him at the time that Shiotsu, Gen requested their asylum. Fushimi had been deeply implicated in all parts of the matter and didn't necessarily fancy being reminded of the events surrounding it. It had been the culmination of his departure from Homra.

In spite of the awkward topic, Munakata responded nobly. "While that it a valid possibility and relations with their clan have become less strained under the leadership of their new king, I prefer to seek a solution that will not involve the clashing of values."

For a moment more silence graced their burdensome conversation. The captain seemed to be showing respect for the sacredness of tea tasting. Fushimi himself, the only one currently partaking, appreciated neither the flavor of the beverage nor some intangible concept that the setting influenced one's perception of it. He simply drank slowly because that was what was required. On second thought, maybe the tea was more bitter than usual... That was probably just Awashima's preparation of it, though.

Either way, his forced sloth and Munakata's stubborn refusal to speak allowed ample time for all to absorb the atmosphere of strained uncertainty. The rush to perform and the absence of solutions was a rare combination that Fushimi could only recall having felt immediately following the murder of Totsuka, Tatara. It had resurfaced a second time when Jungle infiltrated the Timeless Palace, and now again.

Without protocol, the blue clan waited at stalemate for the directions of their king. Ever since his Sword of Damocles had been damaged he seemed less sure of all his decisions. It would be inappropriate to suggest the Blue King had become gun shy by the simultaneous death of his friend and sudden destabilization of his own powers, but he certainly took more time questioning his own strategies.

This slight waver to the unshakable justice of Scepter 4 worried Awashima deeply; though, she rarely said so much. Her concern was seen only in sidelong glances and a doubled willingness to do whatever the man she greatly admired requested of her. Each of the people in the room with him that afternoon was one of his closest companions, if anyone could truly be considered a confidant of a divine enigma, and they all had their different reasons to see danger in his situation.

Awashima had been with him from the very day his powers awakened. She knew his mannerisms and idiosyncrasies better than any other human alive. She saw the most miniscule of changes in his behavior, and knew that a man sworn to walk the path chosen for him was losing his self-confidence.

Zenjou had lived this very story once before. His king - Habari, Jin - had also intended to sacrifice himself for the better good and, therefore, lost his stability in the Damocles Down that would forever be known as the Kagutsu Incident. Now an old man, Zenjou wore the physical and emotional scars of someone who had been forced to kill his own king - his mentor, his leader, his friend. He also suspected the only reason Munakata had recently started calling him frequently out of his dungeon the archives was to prepare him once more to make the inevitable grace killing in the last moment. The very man who had complained of Suoh, Mikoto's selfishness in doing as he pleased until the very end now selfishly depended on a broken beast to bear the same burden twice, and Zenjou wondered if he was even still capable of such a feat.

Fushimi also saw it from his own angle. As a former member of Homra, he knew the path that had lead Suoh to death's door. His concern lay in Munakata's obstinate determination to be in perfect control of himself. While it was true that the Red King's lack of restraint was effectively self destruction, the unending insistence that he needed no help or rest and that he could _overcome_ the damage with the will power of a king was likely to land Munakata in the same boat.

None of them knew how to help, but it was pauses such as these that instilled fear in their hearts. A simple delayed response was enough to make silence unbearable.

As soon as Fushimi had finished drinking the longest cup of tea he had ever consumed, they terminated the tradition in ceremonious perfection. As if aware he had burdened his subordinates with a heavy load, Munakata lightened the mood with related business.

"By the way, Fushimi-kun, disguised in a stack of more trivial reports was an unauthorized detentionary admission with your signature. It would appear that approximately one week ago you arbitrarily took an otherwise unoffending enabled person into custody. On what basis?"

His accused third-in-command gave no impression of embarrassment or shame for neglecting to pursue Kory Dokite's case. He had long since decided how he would respond whenever the question eventually came up. "Yes, he was hostilly demanding access to the annex. We had him arrested in case of malicious intent."

The incomplete statement was perfectly true and would likely have convinced a more trusting superior, but Munakata had already done his homework. "The guards at the gate that day have testified that he was only afraid because of the murder of the hyperacustic strain and that, in fact, he was friendly with you, even providing you with valuable information about the case."

Fushimi's tone didn't change at all when faced with the light scolding. "I turned in his signed release of liability form as laid out in the protocol for members of families seeking asylum due to strange phenomena."

Deliberately overlooking the easily known fact that Fushimi had intended the delay, the king commented, "Unfortunately, doubling work loads here and in interim at the Timeless Palace prevent me from approving this in a more timely manner. What would you have me do about this person?"

Fushimi shrugged. He should have known better than to think he would get away with minimum involvement with that nuisance. As soon as Munakata learned there was a history at all between them, he wouldn't let matters be, and he looked now at his subordinate with a deep, implicative smile.

Missing out on the subtler detail, Awashima pointed out as she put the tea set back in storage, "Captain, surely you've thought of this, but it's worth mentioning: we can't make this exception for a single strain while rejecting to help all others, but neither can we leave him in custody."

"Yes," he agreed, still directing that omniscient grin at the third-in-command, "and we do not have the means to shelter dozens of dangerous strains who will undoubtedly knock on our door the same as him as soon as they find out."

Now that ceremony was no longer necessary, the young man fell back into bad habits, flicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "Send him to Homra, then," he mimicked Awashima's former suggestion in a grumble.

That confirmed Munakata's suspicions, and even the lieutenant smiled softly at their uncooperative, foster child. "If he's your friend, why didn't you just say so?" She wondered.

Uninvolved in the matter Zenjou muttered to himself, "Why would he leave his friend in jail for a week?"

The word put Fushimi immediately on the defensive, and he justified, "That guy is super annoying. It's just..." He had to pause for a second to collect his thoughts and calm his embarrassed voice. "Look, some nutcase who thinks he is a prince or something isn't going to catch the attention of these rebels. As much as I hate to admit it, Kory's ability may have some value to them. I don't plan on letting them have him." His mind added silently, _or being the reason he dies,_ and even Fushimi couldn't figure out why the given name slipped so easily from his lips.

"Better a prisoner than an enemy?" Coming from Munakata the summary sounded more like an ancient proverb, but he agreed with the explanation. "A preemptive strike against the increasing of their ranks is not a bad idea. We would do well to secure the loyalties of as many isolated enabled persons as possible. Still, we do not have the necessary manpower to guard every one of our allies."

"Perhaps, in this case, we may be able to justify the preferential treatment because there is also the risk of him turning to Jungle for help now that they are more active, and that would be a potently disastrous mistake," Awashima suggested.

The excuse was accepted without contest, if only temporarily, and orders were sent to prepare a guest room for Kory. He would be allowed a brief, supervised visit to his place of residence to gather some clothes and a few scarce belongings, after which he would be under pseudo-house arrest, only allowed to leave his room upon request and under direct supervision. The room and his person would be outfitted with dampeners of the Dresden signals, preventing him from using his powers on their systems. Until they could think of a solution that showed equality to all threatened individuals, they would continue to act upon the premise that he was too valuable an asset to lose to the Greens.


	14. Green Clanswomen

_**Well here we are, back again, with a particularly long chapter mostly because Arait got carried away with nonsensical fluff. Hopefully you all enjoy it!**_

* * *

"Hayashi-san, what are you doin'?" Kusanagi demanded with arms folded firmly across his chest. "You're supposed to be restin'."

The girl gestured timidly to the table where she had been sweeping a moment before. "It was dirty."

"I know. I'm getting to that." Honestly, he had only been gone to the supply room for a minute for more cleaning elements and she had already gone against his advice.

"It's kinda my mess, too."

"Yata-chan kicked over that bowl of curry chips when he threw himself over the table at Kamamoto. It's his mess." Not that he expected the hot-tempered boy to come clean it up any time soon. It seemed from the reaction he was getting that he and Azami both knew that.

"But I can clean it for you."

"Why the sudden need to be a homemaker?"

"You said it yourself," she reminded him. "It's the Day of Ro."

The bartender stared her down, not buying that explanation.

She sighed and then drew in a deep breath to reveal the whole truth. "And I threw a handful of shrimp puffs at Chitose for making a lewd comment; every time I walk across the floor, my shoes stick 'cause somebody spilled their soda, and if I don't find something to do, I'm gonna start trying to climb your shelves."

Kusanagi glanced sideways at his fully stocked alcohol selection, trying to decide how serious she might be and if he wanted to risk it. While he didn't like the idea, he knew that the girl who could run down a car to keep tabs on Emi's kidnappers led quite an active lifestyle and this period of recovery was most likely torture to her.

Finally relaxing his stance, he conceded, "Alright, you can sweep under the tables. But if you start hurtin', you sit down and rest right away, got it?"

"Loud and clear." Giving him a salute, Azami scooped up the broom with more enthusiasm than someone normally ever would.

Most of the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon were spent with just the two of them cleaning the downstairs of the bar. Azami completed her sweeping, then also mopped and shined the fish tank before her leg started to seep. (After Kusanagi forced her to rest, she snuck back to sanitize the booths where she had contaminated them.)

Anna was assigned to take care of her room upstairs and later she disappeared with her own agenda in mind. Though only almost 12-years old, being a King gave her certain perks. Kusanagi closed the bar early since he also needed to go home and give some attention to his own personal residence. However, with added confidence now entrusted in the Green Girl, he left her with the task of using her graffiti skills to draw some winter decorations on the inside of the storefront windows.

* * *

Enomoto had a new otome game. What any male of adult age would want with a depiction of a teenage girl searching for love in the most unrealistically attractive older men was way beyond Fushimi. The group of four who had gathered in the annex's common area to play it were all bachelors outside the range of high school girls' limited interests. Shouldn't they have been disheartened by the content?

Nevertheless, Doumiyouji, Gotou, and Hidaka crowded Enomoto around a small screen, cheering him on and suggesting responses. Their laughter and shouts were an annoyance that couldn't be helped. Apparently they had decided it would be fun to see how the game would play out if they took turns making the decisions that could alter the outcome. That meant one person could accept private tutoring lessons from the most ridiculously gorgeous physics teacher - who somehow looked like he had graduated college at age fourteen while still maintaining an admirable social standing in spite of his mockable glasses. The very next person could choose to blow him off with no notice to hang out with the girls at a mixer.

The appeal of such a soiree - and therefore also its difficulty - was the quantity of eligible young men involved. Depending on one's actions throughout the virtual evening could draw one to you or repulse them. The varied tastes of the four blue clansmen who apparently had nothing worthwhile to do with their day complicated the matter.

Doumiyouji had such exuberance in his efforts to find the playable character a suitable boyfriend came across deceptively as rather queer suddenly declaring things like, "Ooh, choose him; he's hot!"

Hidaka always wanted to be polite to everyone, regardless of his tastes or the situation, which contributed to a very pleasant female who was constantly flirted with but never considered to be serious relationship quality.

Having played these games on multiple occasions, Enomoto was most concerned with unlocking the best possible ending with whichever mate was decided upon. He always chose the right answer. For example, he had been quite opposed to standing up the teacher, but the others vetoed him in that instance.

Gotou, remaining as straight as possible for a man playing an otome, made the decision on his turn that they would hang out with the other girls for the night and "ooh" and "aah" at their gorgeously animated faces. Not to mention, with the girls one received plenty of cleavage shots.

Slowly but surely the other females paired off with the males, eliminating the popular athletes, bad boys, and preps from their options. The girl who had invited them had her own long term boyfriend with a promise ring and everything. Bending over the table in her low cut shirt, she stomped her foot and insisted, "I came here for moral support so that you could finally escape your lonely life of emotional isolation. Are you even going to try to bond with someone?"

Three options were presented:

A. Okay, I'll do my best.

B. None of these people are interesting.

C. *moan* I guess I'll just die an old hag.

Another dispute arose over the answer. Of the remaining eligible boys, the one Doumiyouji liked was deemed "too immature" for everyone else's tastes. Gotou wanted to play the sympathy card, claiming maybe they'd get a hug from "those giant knockers." Hidaka let out a conflicted groan and reminded the others that they should have just followed the teacher's course.

Faced with all of their wishes and the wrath of a computer generated best friend, Enomoto chose the first option. The playable character left the table and, at Hidaka's selection, went to get punch rather than towards the immature knucklehead.

The punch bowl was empty.

On the screen appeared the question: Are you...

A. Unaffected?

B. Discouraged?

C. Frustrated?

It seemed like a question that would have no impact on the outcome whatsoever. Enomoto warned, however, that in every instance the right selection was critical. It being Doumiyouji's turn, he could never be entirely unaffected by anything due to his heartfelt reactions. He did agree not to be frustrated, and that yielded good results.

A tall, young man came into view with the title "Newcomer." His cherry cola colored hair was straight and jagged, and he wore slim jeans with an aviator's jacket. He affixed the startled girl with sunken, bronze eyes and pulled a plastic cup away from his mouth.

"Sorry, I took the last glass. Ladies first."

A prompt furthered: You have been offered half a cup of punch. Do you...

A. Reject it kindly?

B. Refuse?

C. Accept?

For a moment they were silenced, swooning over the epic beauty of an unlikely bishounen, but a debate quickly erupted.

"Why would we want something he already drank out of? What if he back-washed?" Enomoto shuddered at the unsanitary possibilities.

"You're so cruel, Eno!" Hidaka reproached. "He's trying to be nice."

"Ah no, it isn't like that," the accused insisted desperately. "Of course I'd be kind and say, 'That's okay; you can keep it. It was yours first.' But we don't even know him. He might have germs."

"Or it's drugged," Gotou added flatly so that it was impossible to tell if he was joking or being serious.

Doumiyouji argued back, "You guys are such 'glass half-emptiers'! There's no way it's drugged. This game is rated Teen. They couldn't do that! And don't be such a germaphobe! If this goes well, we'll be kissing him by tonight anyhow."

"It's either appropriate for teens or it's not," Enomoto countered that the youngest among them could not possibly be right on both accounts.

"He probably hasn't drank out of it yet," Hidaka gave his input. "He's was about to take a drink, but saw that he could be a gentleman to a lady in need instead. That's what I say."

Being as they were at an impasse, Gotou elected to cede his place as decision maker. "Fushimi, your turn."

The mentioned clansman had been doing his utmost to ignore their antics; although, far too much of what they said was absorbed anyhow. The only reason he was even in a populated area of the annex was because his dorm still smelled like potent chemicals from the fall cleaning ritual. When his coworkers called him out, though, he didn't pretend to ignore them.

Looking away from his personal tablet briefly, he quipped, "Refuse."

Doumiyouji slumped in exaggeration. "Aww man, Hidaka. We're outnumbered by glass half-emptiers."

Fushimi corrected, "Glass half empty, glass half full. Makes no difference. No way am I accepting something from some random person."

"He isn't 'some random person,'" Doumiyouji corrected, and his eyes shone like he was already in love with the tall man. "He's gorgeous."

"Even if his jaw is chiseled and he's a millionaire, I don't want it."

"Aw Fushimi-san, that's not how this game works," Enomoto clarified. "You can't respond as you would in real life. It's essential to make a good first impression to win, especially with people you may only meet once."

Instead of paying heed to the counsel, Fushimi countered sharply, "I'm not participating."

"Well we're not refusing, no matter what Grumpy over there said," Doumiyouji proclaimed.

Since the game was Enomoto's, he invoked the right to overrule the others and chose to decline respectfully. Dialogue appeared on the screen as the playable character.

"It's okay. You got to it first."

With a shrug, the man downed the whole glass in one swig and tossed the plastic into the trash.

"By the way, I'm Kuris'. What's your name?"

Having begun the game before the other three joined him, the long haired otaku had given the character a name fitting to his abnormal humor.

She replied, "Megan."

"So how's this party been? I just barely made it. Got caught up at work. Coast Guard rescues aren't limited to 9 to 5."

A notification popped up. Military path unlocked.

Enomoto squealed with glee. Sometimes all of the summaries and every walk through of a game didn't include a hidden possibility. A person who could unlock any secret during game play without doing a web search for step-by-step instructions was lucky. Regardless of what happened for the rest of the game, Enomoto was resolved to follow Kuris'. The others could tell from his sudden enthusiasm and supported him completely. They had no complaints, in spite of the pirate-like look he had with the single ring in his ear.

They all watched attentively as Megan outlined the details of who had partnered off with who, their personality types, and anything amusing they had done. She asked about his job, to which he explained that it didn't require any special degrees or have an age limit. So long as he could pass the physical tests like being a strong swimmer and repelling rock faces, he had been able to start training even while still in his teens. It was both an exciting and rewarding job. He even got to test out new and experimental equipment sometimes.

In this way, they spent the evening getting to know each other until the party quickly wound down. The boys playing were presented with another choice: to accept a ride home from him on his motorcycle or not.

Feeling like it was finally his turn, Doumiyouji pounded his selection into the controller and affirmed, "Definitely yes!"

"Is that really safe?" Enomoto wondered nervously as if he was actually considering the means of transportation in real life. His fears were brushed aside when Kuris' handed Megan his spare helmet.

The ride was thrilling, even in the second dimension, and the two of them parted awkwardly but innocently. The next conflict to divide the four male players was what excuse to give the teacher. Having bailed on the private tutoring, Megan failed her science test. The way-too-nerdy-to-be-so-gorgeous professor approached her after class to ask what happened. Giving an explanation was no easy task.

Once again they called across the room, "Fushimi-san! What should we tell the teacher?"

This time he clicked his tongue as he lifted his eyes away from his personal screen. "I said 'I'm not participating.'"

"Come on," Doumiyouji insisted. "You're so good at getting out of work from the lieutenant."

"Isn't that actually you?" he grumbled back.

"What are you doing anyways?" Hidaka couldn't help his curiosity.

Fushimi started to claim that was none of their business at all, but before he could even form the words, the four of them encircled his armchair to peer at his open terminal. Displayed on split-screen were an informational website and one for online shopping.

Gotou nodded at the product, its specs, and the fine details and commented, "Nice."

"Knives?" Doumiyouji prodded. "Don't you always use the same brand? What do you need to do research for?"

Since the air around him suddenly felt hot and smothering like it had in that place, Fushimi tried to deflect. "If you keep making that professor wait, he's gonna get irritated."

"Meh, who cares."

It was clear Enomoto did, as his face twisted bitterly from the prospect of losing any points. For some reason, however, knowing the activities their teammate was busying himself with took precedence even for the otaku. Their eight eyes gazed eagerly upon him, pointlessly interested in something quite ordinary.

He tried once more to dissuade them. "Don't you have anything better to do? The captain's orders are that everyone pick up a creative hobby." Of course, he knew he could use that senseless decision for his own benefit.

Yet, his colleagues were not swayed, sounding off alphabetically,

"Done."

"Me too."

"I do that every Saturday."

"Ditto."

Fushimi responded with a completely blank expression. They all had creative hobbies already? Rather than allow himself to be bewildered by the fact, he snorted lightly. Munakata also probably had no clue what a creative hobby entailed if he was unaware that the clan members did so before his decree. A darker thought followed. If that was the case, what exactly did he have in mind?

Fushimi's musings were brought abruptly to an end when Hidaka jabbed a finger into his ribs like an older brother might. "Tell us, won't you?" he requested. "You found some cool, new knives, didn't you?"

"It's always a good idea to keep up to date with the latest innovations," he at last answered, as vaguely as possible.

"It doesn't actually look as if you're doing general research," Gotou pointed out, reasonably deducing that he was truly only interested in the one set of throwing daggers. They were simplistic in nature compared to the style he normally bought. Shaped more like refined spearheads than thin slices, the handle featured a small loop to hook around one's fingers.

"There's just one model in particular I wanted to compare." Maybe that was enough explanation to suffice.

It wasn't. Doumiyouji made use of his inherited knowledge of blades. "Looks heavier."

"It's not supposed to be." Fushimi pointed to a line on the screen. "'Made from a new, lightweight alloy more durable than diamond coating.' Apparently they are laser cut with incredibly aerodynamic precision so that they'll fly straighter and hit target with more force, also."

"Then what don't you like about them?" Enomoto wondered, presuming he wouldn't take so long shopping if they clearly were the better option.

"Size," he replied shortly, but then decided to expound. "I can't quite tell if they're too bulky to use as 'hidden weapons.'" He referred to himself with the term Munakata had used to define him years before.

"Those are the ones jungle's hired assassin uses, aren't they?" Gotou deduced.

"Ooh? How can you tell?" Doumiyouji inquired, excited by the impressive perceptive abilities.

"I remember cataloguing them after we took her into custody. The shape was thicker by the tang and tapered toward the end. It seemed unusual for modern-day weapons which are usually slim and minimalistic."

Fushimi interrupted the others' hums of agreement. "Where are they?"

He stood, skillfully dodging the clan members encircling him, as if intending to head straight to the storage room for prisoners' belongings.

"Eh? Fushimi-san!" Hidaka called, taking off after him. "I don't think it's a good idea to try them out."

"Play your stupid game," he snapped back, but it was too late for that. The quartet followed their trouble making superior, leaving the pop-up on the screen.

"The professor is getting impatient."

* * *

 _Scratch. Scratch... Scratch, scratch, scratch..._

Since that morning the air had been filled with an incessant sound of scraping metal. It was a curiosity at first. Soon the persistence became an aggravation. By afternoon, the methodic pattern had numbed the mind into believing the grating was a noise that belonged in the world. When the cause tired and the pace slowed, it once again became noticeable.

"You won't get very far like that." A voice probably had to shout to be heard through the stone wall that separated the two.

Instantly she froze. The blond girl whose hair had curled from the sweat of vigorous activity and stuck to her neck looked up, startled. Her green eyes flicked to life behind pink framed lenses. How could anyone know what she was doing? There hadn't been any blue clansmen around all day.

Her gaze lifted out the small, gridded window, expecting to see a face. The hallway also was empty. Across the way, however, a camera that had been pointed toward the entrance refocused on her. She frowned at it, not bothering to rise from where she sat, legs sprawled on the stone floor in her miniskirt.

He was watching her. Whoever spoke must have somehow had control of the surveillance network. She thought she might hear the squawk of a messenger parrot, sent to speak on behalf of her employer. That wouldn't have been like Nagare at all, yet she couldn't think of anyone outside of Jungle who could intercept Scepter 4's system.

"Who are you?" Douhan asked harshly of the wall. "Identify rank and username."

"Data Wizard," Kory replied, choosing one of his many virtual personas, likely for its implied meaning. Then, without having a jungle rank to report, he added, "and I'm currently available."

The girl with a provocatively low-cut shirt and cat ears on her socks replied bluntly, "I hope you are referring to your technical skills."

In the shadowy cell Kory had found no way to make himself at home over the days he had spent there. At first, he really had thought Fushimi would handle matters professionally and get him out of there within the promised 48 hours. His faith had been severely misplaced. The only light in the cell - the only source of anything other than cold blue - was the tiny window allowing the narrowest of views into the hallway.

Kory definitely thought he was starting to smell bad, and he didn't think he had ever worn the same clothes so many days in a row. More than all that, he was bored out of his mind. Once 48 hours had come and gone, he gave up on behaving. Being offline was just too much for his body to endure.

It hadn't been long before he discovered a beautiful, young lady was one of his neighbors. Hers was a well-known face, both in the world of computers and that of freelance mercenary. Hirasaka, Douhan was someone people seldom messed with, so it was quite surprising to find her scraping at the floor of Scepter 4's prison with a fork.

"Ah, you haven't heard of me?" he asked in reply, and while his voice was full of double entendre, his leg twitched violently as it had nonstop for the past day and a half.

"I know plenty well who you are, Kory Dokite."

"So you know what I'm capable of?" A sheen of sweat glistened on his face, but it was gradually receding now that he had his mental fingers on some form of technology again.

She snipped back across the thick boundary, "Then why isn't your voice coming through the system also? Or are your talents highly exaggerated?"

His immediate reaction was to be offended, so an answer was delayed. He scratched aimlessly at the perspiration on the sore skin of his arm under the rough sweater he had been wearing for days. Logic prevailed eventually. She was just vetting him.

"I heard you could walk through walls, yet you're still here," he replied tit for tat.

Douhan huffed loudly enough that he heard it through the stone in addition to seeing the footage of her slouching shoulders entering his mind. "Point taken." The blues had found ways to restrain her powers by separating her from the jungle app. It would only make sense they would try to dim his as well. "So what are you suggesting?"

Having listened to the trained assassin dig at the floor all day, Kory shouldn't have made contact if he didn't at least have something worthwhile to say. Unable to think of anything, he gave an inaudible shrug. "I was told I would be released days ago. Doesn't seem like either of us will be getting out anytime soon. Just thought a little company would serve us both."

Douhan's no-nonsense, all-business outlook was entirely put off by such advances. With skills perfected even without the use of powers from the slate, she responded by launching her fork lightning fast through the window of her cell and straight into the camera's lens.

* * *

On their way to the fire escape stairs, five of the nine Special Duty Corps members were surprised to be passed by a rather large number of the Intelligence Division, all hurrying toward the central control room. Enomoto stopped a geeky friend of his in passing to inquire about the nature of the emergency.

"There's an imposter controlling our surveillance system. So far, all details are unknown," the officer explained briefly.

"Do you need any help?" Doumiyouji offered. In spite of his minimal computer knowledge, the only thing he took seriously was his job. As one of the leading members, he was eager to lend a hand in any situation.

"It might be too early to say, but we should be able to handle it ourselves. It's most likely just a standard network attack."

"Roger," Doumiyouji accepted with a salute before taking off to catch up to Fushimi and the others.

Enomoto soon followed after, bidding his friend good luck.

A small room beside the prison area housed whatever possessions had been confiscated off the person of whomever was arrested. They were organized in filing boxes according to cell number to be returned to them upon their release. Since capturing Jungle's masked clansman in an alley, Fushimi had personally had no further contact with her. Thus, his question to fellow Special Duty Corps members regarding their storage location.

In the end, Gotou yielded to his superior's demanding gaze, revealing the location of Douhan's belongings. Fushimi hurriedly bypassed the body armor and double-edged blades, tunnel vision leaving him straight to precisely that which had caught his fleeting interest. Without hesitation, he snatched up a handful of the throwing knives.

Behind him, Doumiyouji peeked at the contents as well, curiously wondering, "What else is in here?"

Whirling one through the fingers of his right hand, he analyzed its weight and handling. Of primordial importance was the daggers' adaptability to Fushimi's own style - quick, subtle motions coupled with tricky dynamics. The ring that could be hooked around the finger provided extra security and appeared to be useful for stabbing directly. It would definitely require learning a new method of release to throw them, though.

Nervously watching his coworker fondle dangerous weapons, Enomoto seemed to want to be done as quickly as possible. "What do you think, Fushimi-san?" he inquired.

He thought they weren't well suited for his purposes. They wouldn't easily be concealed by clothing, after all. They were nice knives, though. He enjoyed the way they flowed through his hands, and he actually thought he should train with them, if nothing else to properly learn techniques to defend against them in the future.

He didn't answer. He probably wouldn't have even if there had been no interruption, but his thoughts were cut short by Hidaka's shocked cry, "Eh?! Doumiyouji! Don't play with those, it's dangerous!"

Ignoring the taller man's concerns, Doumiyouji declared, "Wow, these are like circus swords! Wanna see me juggle?" He had the double sided blades in his hands, the central loop of one rotating around his wrist recklessly.

"You can't do that!" Hidaka persisted, while Enomoto muttered in fear, "Isn't the room a little small for that?"

The wild hearted, young man would not back down. His friends edged away from him as he lifted a hand to toss one of the swords into the air. He froze, however, as a knife whizzed inches from his face. The other three also parted a gap for the dagger to fly between them and then proceeded to stand motionless and alert.

Only Fushimi spoke, making his way to the knife's destination in the wooden wall behind them all. "Aerodynamics and velocity aren't bad. Aim is off a bit, though. They lose altitude."

None of them could fathom why Fushimi would dare perform a test in their direction, and Doumiyouji found his anger first. "What the—are you doing?"

He still didn't answer. Their worry was unwarranted, so there was no need to explain. In fact, despite their noisy antics, Fushimi had overheard a suspicious whoosh. Responding by throwing whatever sharp object happened to be in his hands at the time had ultimately been a rash but effective decision. Covered in a pulsating blue, the dagger had firmly pinned a fork to the wooden wall between two of its prongs.

Fushimi retrieved both, somewhat surprised by the type of projectile, and glanced upward at its innocent victim. _A fork had been thrown at a surveillance camera?_ It seemed odd, yet with their kind of prisoners anything was possible.

"How can you say 'aim is off' when you hit it dead center?" Hidaka questioned.

Once the four of them had acknowledged Fushimi had a target other than them, their fear quickly melted into awe.

The third-in-command glared back at them, disapproving of their lack of urgency under attack. The fork had been on its way to the floor after destroying the camera in the corner when Fushimi had interrupted it. Following the most likely trajectory back to its source, the officer leaned over to peer through the small window at his suspect.

It was the blonde, U-ranker from Jungle. With an arm resting on the ledge, he tossed the fork back into the cell at her feet. There was no way she could cause any significant damage with it anyhow, so it was more useful for making a point.

"Is this yours?" he questioned.

Douhan appeared, at first, to be apologetic for her misbehavior, as her eyes indicated she might explain the situation that led to her launching an attack on inanimate technology. Then, she saw her own knives in the hands of her captor, and her attitude changed immediately. She beamed his direction.

"Trying to work out your disadvantage, I see," she provoked with a grin.

The response was accompanied by a light click. "What are you talking about? I was the one who beat you."

"Don't expect to catch me off guard again. 'I'm not so stupid as to fall for the same trick over and over.'" She used his first words to her back against him as a show of impudence.

Fushimi scoffed. "Trick? I'm not the one relying on deceptive tactics like some cheap magic show."

"Oh? If it's so 'cheap,' why are you trying to figure out how I do it?" Having gradually approached the cell door during their banter, Douhan clarified her meaning by plucking one of her knives from the Blue's hands.

He reacted immediately, snatching her arm and squeezing the tendon so the dagger fell away (outside the cell, of course). Compared to the maneuver, however, a verbal reply was slow in coming, so the female taunted further.

"Or was your initial success just dumb luck?"

He snapped then, "My interest is limited to the technology."

"Oi, if you harm her..." a voice warned ominously from the next cell over as the prisoner within propped himself valiantly against the window bars.

"You're still in here?" Gotou asked dully, as he pointed a finger at the strain with a frown.

"Where'd you think I'd have gone?" he replied, his frustration over the situation evident in his tone. "No one ever came to get me."

"Who's that?" Doumiyouji inquired, frank as always.

"That's your culprit," Douhan revealed with a humph as she straightened herself out from being manhandled.

"Dokite, Kory," Gotou specified, ignoring the informant, "the technopathic strain."

"Aaaaah, it's him!" Hidaka exclaimed, unexpectedly excited to meet the person hacking their network. "This is the one you were telling us about, ne Gotie?"

"Ah, yes," Gotou replied briefly.

Flustered that he couldn't understand the exchange between the two roommates, Doumiyouji burst in, "Who? What person? What are you talking about?"

Hidaka leaned over to whisper in his ear a reminder of the conversation they had a few days prior in the cafeteria. Recognition flashed in the younger boy's eyes, and he too joined in the excitement. Fushimi turned a frown to the only person around he felt like he could minimally relate to at the time: Douhan.

"What are they going on about?"

She shrugged. "They're your fellow clansmen."

Fushimi could only click his tongue.

Gotou broke through the chaos with a monotonous comment. "What I don't understand is what he's still doing here. When the captain interviewed me about my impression of his arrest, he specifically said he would command Fushimi-san to handle the release procedures."

Narrowing his eyes, Kory led the group in a mass glare at the third-in-command and sing-songed, "Sa-ru-hi-ko~"

The target huffed and looked away. "It is an official day off," he justified. "Anything resembling 'procedures' could wait another day."

"Forty-eight hours. You told me it would take 48 hours. That was long gone five days ago," the prisoner complained.

Fushimi quickly countered, "That was to determine whether or not the charges against you would be dropped. Those have been fully expunged. But you signed your acceptance of whatever treatment we chose."

That was a fact Kory could not dispute. Fortunately for him, Gotou added, "It was decided he would be _treated_ as a civilian guest under our protection, allowed access to some of his belongings and a dorm room."

Kory let out a surprised exclamation upon hearing how his day was supposed to have gone.

Fushimi easily brushed that off as well. "All invalid now that you launched a cyber attack on a government organization."

Douhan seemed to find the current plight of her failed suitor rather amusing, letting out a muffled snicker that he had undone himself just for the sake of flirting with her.

"Let me get this straight," Doumiyouji summarized. "This is the strain that approached you in good faith asking for help, and the only reason he was able to do anything illegal is because we didn't follow through promptly?"

"Sounds about right," Kory approved with a shrug.

"A cyber attack that was thwarted by...another prisoner?" As if a detective in a TV drama, Enomoto tried to work through the clues at hand. "He was hitting on her."

"So all that brouhaha upstairs was all a horny hipster with too much time on his hands?"

"That is how it appears."

Having concluded their investigation, the representatives of the Special Duty Corps announced their verdict via spokesperson Hidaka, "Captain's order stands. First thing at the start of business hours tomorrow an escort will accompany the strain in question to his apartment." Then, turning to the highest ranking member on scene, he offered with a wink, "Why don't you take him?"

"Eh?" Fushimi's reaction was dumbfounded. There was obviously some implication he wasn't picking up on. "What the hell?"

The secret wouldn't be revealed, however, as Akiyama burst into the prison followed by a handful of clansmen from the Intelligence Division.

Doumiyouji slapped the newcomer good naturedly on the shoulder and bragged, "Case closed."

* * *

 _Azami let out a slow, controlled breath as she lay on her bed and tried to let the tension from the day out of her limbs. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed her brain to start unwinding so she could_ maybe _get some sleep. There was quite a bit of uncertainty floating around in her mind as of late._

 _It seemed like recently all her missions had been taking more out of her than usual, but maybe that was because she didn't feel like she could have as much fun as she used to._ Maybe _it was because a weird guy in a straight jacket had shown up to take control of her clan,_ maybe _she couldn't shake this feeling that the atmosphere at headquarters had changed despite promises that it wouldn't, and_ maybe _she was growing sick of feeling like she was only a pawn in a big game that she didn't know how to win._

 _Her brow creased at sharp whispering in the hall and she opened her eyes only for the world to blur for a couple seconds. Woops. Had she dozed off just then after all—sitting up on the edge of her bed? The whispering drew closer, the tones heightening and sounding more agitated as they passed by her bedroom door. Her frown deepened and she moved to find out what all the anxiety was about. She thought she was the only one still up at this hour._

 _She stepped into the hallway, the fluorescent lights blinding for a moment before three figures came into view—two males and a female. She relaxed a little at the sight since two of them were only new recruits who didn't know the ropes yet. The girl had been around longer; in fact, Azami had had a less than pleasant introduction to her after the arcade tournament. But she seemed less sour now so perhaps she had taken the recruits under her wing._

" _What's going on, guys?" Azami asked quietly from a few steps behind them._

" _Hayashi-san…" one of the new guys squeaked in a small and quite unimposing voice. He bowed and apologized, "Sorry for waking you."_

 _Azami shook her head and waved in the direction of her room. "No, I was still up. The question is: why are you? You guys haven't been here long enough for late night missions…"_

" _It's not exactly a mission…" the other boy mumbled, only to get swatted disapprovingly by the quiet one._

 _Azami folded her arms in wait for an answer while the three shared an uneasy look. It was the formerly sour-faced recruit who eventually decided to provide the answer._

" _It's _ sister," she said, gesturing to the quiet guy and Azami wondered if she spaced out for a moment, her ears mute to the name she had just said. "She heard about this mission in the woods after mealtime and she wanted to get a jump on it—try to get a reputation for herself."_

" _She left after we ate and we haven't heard from her since," the other guy added._

" _We can't just leave her out there all night!" the quiet one said._

 _Azami stared at the floor in thought. They were right. If his sister hadn't checked in yet then something bad could have happened so they couldn't just wait until the morning. But she couldn't exactly let them go by themselves, unsupervised. She reached behind herself and closed the door to her room, beckoning them to follow her._

" _Come on, I'll go with you."_

 _They stepped out onto the concrete of the scenic overlook which was as far as the cab would take them and from there they left the beaten path. The grass was spongy, but thankfully the terrain was not too difficult to navigate at this point. The Green Girl was feeling fatigue creep up on her from her personal objectives for the day, even if she had tried to doze on the way. The new kids didn't seem inclined to discuss the situation then, but she was determined to get the full story sooner or later._

" _So what kind of mission did she hear about this far out of the city?" she questioned the three._

 _One of the boys shrugged. "A secret strain hideout or a yakuza body dump or something."_

 _Though it was cynical, Azami caught the fringes of a joke so she also made light of the situation with, "So she decided to come out here with no sense of direction and try to go undercover or what?"_

" _Something like that," the other guy grinned and elbowed his buddy in the ribs._

 _She got the idea they really hadn't gotten the details at all so they remained quiet for a long time after that. No one seemed to be in the mood for chat and Azami didn't know these people well enough to know what to talk about. Truthfully, she wasn't comfortable with the whole situation._

 _Suddenly there was a sound like static in her ears and when her mind alerted, her orientation had jumped a couple miles up the mountainside. Maybe the strange noise was just her ragged breathing…? She looked to the girl hiking beside her._

" _How much further is it?"_

 _The girl looked up from her phone where she appeared to be tracking their whereabouts on a map. She pointed to a bend in the winding path that was beginning a new trailhead. "Her last known location was there. That's where the mission started. Who knows how far it will be from there?"_

 _Azami stopped at the indicated spot and stretched her legs against a tree while the other three took a water break. The older girl wished she had thought of grabbing a bottle before they left as well, but too late. The other female caught her eyeing the beverage in her hand while she and the boys were murmuring to each other._

 _She gave a small smile. "Didn't you bring any water, Hayashi-san? That's, like, the first rule of hiking."_

 _Azami knew that, alright, and she was ashamed to admit that the thought hadn't crossed her mind when she charged right out on a rescue mission. It wouldn't be very heroic if these recruits had to carry her back to headquarters, too. The girl kindly took pity on her, though; she replaced the cap on her bottle and handed it to Azami._

 _"Here, you can have the rest of mine. We've still got a long way to go."_

 _Azami nodded to her gratefully and tipped the drink to her lips, taking a long, refreshing gulp._

 _The static returned and her breathing gradually became more and more pronounced as they continued uphill. Her orientation skipped ahead without her once more and when she caught up to it, they were coming upon a steep drop off. Her feet felt heavy and her eyelids kept drooping without her consent. She must have been way more tired than she thought…_

" _This looks like a good spot," the girl stated._

" _Good for what?" Azami panted lightly._

" _For a body dump," the brother of the missing clansman said._

 _The Green Girl nodded her acknowledgement of the running joke and leaned her back against the rough bark of a tree, the sharp prickling sensation working as a grounding force for her swimming vision._

" _Let me know if you find something," she told them. Could this be what altitude sickness felt like? A strange concept considering she was a person who climbed buildings for fun._

 _The girl appeared in front of her face like a ghost and stared hard into her eyes. "What's wrong, Hayashi-san?"_

" _Just feeling a little…" Azami muttered, but her mind was either running too fast or too slow to know how to describe it. The sound of her heartbeat in her ears made it difficult to decide. She reached back to the tree trunk to keep herself upright._

" _Uh-huh?" the girl prompted. "Kinda lethargic, light-headed, maybe a little dizzy?" Her tone had gone from sweet to malicious in a single instant and Azami finally started to fit the pieces together._

" _What did you do?" she demanded weakly, her knees feeling shaky and like they could buckle at any second._

" _Me? I didn't do anything."_

 _Azami tried to glare, but it was probably hidden when she slumped forward into the arms of the brother whose sister was supposedly missing. He steadied her and helped her shuffle a few paces forward._

" _Why don't you come over here and tell us if you see anything?" he suggested._

" _No," she refused and lurched backward in an attempt to get out of his grip, almost sending them both tumbling down the trail._

" _But we insist," the second boy added as he caught her feet and helped lift her into the air._

" _No!" she answered again, but this time adrenaline dumped into her veins along with whatever they'd given her._

 _She heaved back against the boy who had her under the arms and put every bit of strength she had left into her strong legs. She managed to rip one foot free and kicked upward with all her might. The boy let out a scream as her shoe met his teeth and blood spurted between his lips. The male behind her staggered uncertainly at the abrupt shift in weight when the other dropped her legs to hold his mouth. The Green Girl used that second to twist one arm free and swing around to clap her open palm against her other captor's ear._

" _Bitch!" he shouted in pain and she pulled away from him only to be met by the other female._

" _Are you kidding me?" she barked at the boys._

 _She caught Azami's wrist in her surprisingly strong grasp and twisted so that the dizzy girl bent forward to try to relieve the pain as something popped in her limb right before a knee came up and struck her abdomen full-force. Azami dry-heaved and then reeled as she was shoved backward into the boy with the injured ear once more. A fist connected with her left temple, sending stars exploding through her darkened vision, but the male held her steady this time._

 _The other girl pushed her hair out of her face with a huff and growled, "You're almost more trouble than the points you're worth." She smirked then and stood up straight, commenting, "But not for much longer."_

 _The boy with the now-busted smile returned and took up her feet again; this time the two males swung her back and forth to get enough momentum to throw her out over the cliff's edge. And this time, though she tried to struggle, Azami had succumbed to the numb near-unconsciousness of the drug and couldn't fight back. All she could do was flare the small amount of aura she could still feel under her control and hope for the best as the ground flew up to meet her._

Azami jerked awake, eyes wide and unseeing, brain processing things that were nonexistent at hyperspeed for a second before the bar HOMRA came into focus, albeit everything at a strange angle. She was not lying at the bottom of a ravine, but on her side on the sofa nearest the bar jukebox. She could tell because of the cheerful neon lights playing sporadically in the reflections of the metal barstool legs and crystal glasses. Though for a time all she could hear was her own heart and ragged breathing, eventually the gurgling of the large aquarium along the back wall crept into her consciousness, bringing with it a calm that slowly allowed the warmth of the Red Clan's base to seep into her taut muscles.

It had all felt so real—too real. And actually, though she really didn't want to admit it, the more she lay there rehashing the images, it made a great deal of sense considering all her injuries and where she had awoken in the woods. Could that really have been what happened? She definitely recognized the three as her fellow clansman. What could they have meant about her being worth points?

 _People play Jungle to earn points and get higher ranks…once they get a certain number of points, they get powers._ That's what Yata had said. So did that mean there had been, like, a bounty on her? Why would she deserve that?

Suddenly, an even more disturbing thought pushed to the forefront of her considerations. Yata had also told her that the Green Clan had tried to kill Anna right after she was made King. If they were trying to kill Azami now and found out that the job wasn't done, that would put Anna in the line of fire. Granted, she was a King now, but she was also an inexperienced young girl who didn't need to be put in the crosshairs for a clansman who wasn't even hers—not only her, but her real clansman, too, the forbidden friends that had ultimately wormed their way into a soft spot in her heart.

That was it. With a nod, the Green Girl came to a conclusion on a matter she had been mulling around in her mind for a while now. She couldn't stay here any longer.

* * *

 _ **Dun dun dun. We know how hated we are for these suspenseful endings, but it only makes us laugh evilly. Mwahaha-*hack hack hack***_

 ** _Until next time, Auf wiedersehen freunde..._**


	15. Unplanned Reunions

_**Well that was definitely a terrible way to end a chapter for you all, but at least we didn't make you wait too long. Here's the next chapter!**_

 _ **Kateracks: "Featuring images of Kory that Fushimi never needed to see. Or me for that matter. Sorry Fushimi. I feel for you bro. *whispers* but he's so fun to torture. XD"**_

 _ **Arait: "You're so mean!" (She says even though she was the one who wrote the scene)**_

 ** _As a special note to Alaetoriamente, thank you so much for joining us. Your compliments made us so happy! Hope you continue to enjoy._**

* * *

"Ah, good morning, Anna," Kusanagi greeted the little King as he unlocked the bar doors and began his day.

He had slept in some on account of how hard he had worked the prior evening to commemorate the Day of Ro at his own apartment, but he didn't know it had been long enough that Anna would be awake. When she didn't reply to his greeting, he turned to give her his full attention.

"What's wrong?"

Anna sat on the couch with a rather dejected look on her face. Her eyes were trained on her lap where a dark object was laying. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it was the sweatshirt the boys had given Azami, the red-rimmed hood clasped in Anna's two small hands. On her other side, folded neatly on the cushions were the blankets that had previously served as the Green Girl's bed.

"So she's gone…" he supposed, though he wasn't all that surprised. He kind of expected her to eventually just up and vanish all along.

Anna looked up at him with a bit of sadness and concern in her red optics, but she made no vocal reply.

"Are you worried?" he asked. Truthfully, he was hoping the Green clansman would have had enough sense to wait until she was no longer bleeding, but who was he to judge?

"She's all alone," came the vague reply.

"She is, but not entirely. I made sure she had someone watching her back. You don't need to be anxious."

Anna nodded her head, but didn't seem totally convinced as she continued to cradle the hood.

Before lunch, all of HOMRA had discovered the disappearance of their newest boarder. While some were more vocal than others, overall none were too happy about the news. It all began when the front door swung wide open and a shouting match filled the room. It was actually more one-sided by the usual culprit.

"She did not beat any of my high scores!"

When Yata didn't immediately see his object of interest, he charged over to the kitchen and called, "Hayashi!" She wasn't there so he shouted up the stairs to Anna's bedroom in case she may have been there for whatever reason, "Give me back my game!"

No reply was made there either, but when he returned to the dining area, Anna informed him, "Here it is, Misaki," and held it out for him.

Yata took the system in his hands and stared at it a few long seconds before he raised his eyes to his King on the couch that no longer was occupied by the Green Girl. "Where is she?"

"Hayashi-san decided to take her leave," Kusanagi answered in her place.

"What?" Yata blurted with nothing else to say.

"Is she coming back?" Shouhei inquired.

"Only she knows that," said the bar master.

"She went by herself?" Kamamoto wondered in concern. "What if she gets attacked again? She might need our help."

"Can she even fight right now? We can't let a lady go off alone in such a condition," Chitose inputted like a gentleman.

"That dumbass!" Yata exclaimed. "What does she think she's trying to prove? Those damn cowards will have no problem taking her down when she's injured like that!"

"She can take care of herself," Kusanagi interrupted the rant.

Yata still didn't like it, and he looked to his King for guidance. "Anna, what do you think?"

While the vanguard was certain that Mikoto wouldn't have thought twice about giving them the order to seek out their missing friend and burn whoever got in the way, a reminder was soon given to him that this was not the way Anna acted as King. The young girl's red eyes scanned her clansman slowly and took in their individual reactions, feeling their emotions, and grasping what they wanted her answer to be. She knew, though, that she would have to disappoint them.

"I think…she doesn't want to be found."

A couple mumbles of "But…" went up in protest, but no one countered her decision.

Kusanagi leaned calmly on his counter in the midst of the ensuing stillness and finalized the decision with, "Look, she was comfortable here, you know? She trusts us. It took her a while to get that way, too, so she must have had her reasons. But she knows where we are. If she needs us, she'll contact us."

* * *

Half a dozen officers of the Special Police Force were posted outside the condo. Two guarded the top landing of the stairs, two were at the vehicle in the parking lot, and the other two monitored the perimeter. Aside from them, one grumpy, young officer accompanied a civilian up the stairs to the place leased by the latter.

The doors in the hallway held no place for a key, being unlocked rather by electronic means. Either infrared or RFID, Fushimi presumed after watching a neighbor in an Italian suit invite business guests to enter with his mere presence sufficing. Track lighting in the hall was all on a motion sensor, dimming or brightening with their passage.

Noticing the interest his escort paid to the technology, Kory made small talk. "So what do you think?"

For his part, Fushimi preferred to avoid conversation, especially about the mundane, so his response was short. "Smart apartment."

"That is true," Kory agreed, "but it's not an opinion."

Deflating from his failed escape, Fushimi focused his attention on a wall mounted touchscreen which apparently displayed local events and dining availability. "Aren't you worried?" He asked eventually.

Surprised by the question, the hipster paused before reaching for his doorknob. "Worried?"

"The more integrated a system, with minor parts too simple for security measures, the more vulnerable you become. Shouldn't you know that?"

Kory laughed and stepped into the entry, no manual labor required. After removing his shoes and frowning at the uncharacteristic stench released, he explained, "Maybe for the rest of these people. Most of them know it too, but they can't resist showing off. Everything of real value is elsewhere or highly encrypted."

Fushimi thought that sounded familiar, but he tried not to focus on it as he too slipped out of his boots and put on a pair of floppy, guest slippers. They were pink, sporting the nose and ears of a sheep, from whose wool the house shoes were made. It was clear from that single pair of accessories that this man's only visitors were his female love interests.

Kory continued, "Mine isn't connected to the internet at all. It's an entirely self-installed, personalized system that has no communication whatsoever accept for..."

His aimless lecture cut off suddenly when he slid the paper, screen door aside and took a look at his living room. The final words fell without meaning from his gaping mouth, "...with my mind." The place was trashed. It looked like a cyclone had torn through, ripping holographic displays from the walls, scattering lightweight items like documents and pens, overturning furniture and bookshelves. The access point: a broken window by the fire escape.

Somehow, Fushimi couldn't resist pointing out, "In the end, all that was overcome with a timeless rock."

Kory was speechless. He didn't care to save face before his rival. Eyes wide, he stood petrified by the wreckage. After some moments, gaze darting from corner to corner, pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, and he ran to the shattered glass.

"No," he muttered, shards in hand. "No, no, no. This was bullet proof glass. It..." He paused abruptly, taking a moment to mentally analyze the security system and how it had been compromised. An eerie tingle danced over Fushimi's skin as he stood awkwardly near the door in women's slippers. It was something akin to being in the presence of a possessed item, and he found he had to consciously remind himself it was the static of Kory's technopathic aura.

Coming back to reality with a jolt, the ostentatious young man concluded, "It must have been a strain."

Still in a teasing mood, the officer replied, "A strain? You mean your house isn't always like this?"

"Quit messing around!" Kory whined. "I told you; they're after me! You should call for backup!"

"Yeah, yeah," Fushimi brushed him off with a listless wave of the hand. "Just grab a few things, so we can get you back to headquarters."

Kory seemed like he might protest that a member of the Special Police Force should take the lives of potential victims more seriously, but instead he just hurried off. He didn't want to take chances by staying there any longer than necessary.

Fushimi was surprised by the unexpected sound of running water. It wasn't just the brief surge of flushing a toilet that passed within a few seconds. He let his shoulders slump and leaned back against the wooden, door frame. That guy was taking a shower.

He wondered momentarily if maybe it would be best to inform the others about the break-in, or at least take a look around the other rooms to make sure no suspects were still present. The benefits of doing so did not outweigh the trouble, though. Instead he just waited impatiently.

After a few minutes, Kory came out of the bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist and a razor. "What do you think? Should I shave?"

Thrown off guard by his appearance and the bizarre question, Fushimi could only respond, "Hah!?"

The body before him was not at all unattractive. With tanned and toned arms, it was clear the young man was proud of his ability to draw romantic attention physically. At the same time, he wasn't the fit, athletic type to be muscular head to toe. Sparse hair, still dripping from the shower, separated the left and right sides of his torsoe. In the otherwise lifeless apartment it was practically impossible to look elsewhere.

Kory stroked his jaw and the shadow that had coated it during the five days he had spent at the annex. "Do you think I should shave? Or does it look fine like this?"

"Why would I care?" Fushimi's answer was dull and disinterested as he tried to look away.

"Well you Blues aren't gonna let me bring my shaver, right? And there's no telling how long I'll be there, so I don't see any point..."

"Tch. It's not airport security."

"What?"

"You're forbidden from having access to electronics, not personal hygiene products."

"Ah, so it won't be considered a dangerous weapon, or something? You aren't trying to trick me so I'll end up in custody again, are you?"

Kory's accusatory tone snapped the officer, and he spat, "Go put clothes on! We aren't that friendly!"

The strain wandered casually into his room with a laugh. "Yes, sir."

Some time later, he returned holding brown, leather boat shoes. He had dressed himself in a navy blue sport coat with white piping and slim fitting designer jeans. Pausing outside his bedroom door, he appeared to be posing for his audience.

"Are you serious?" Fushimi deadpanned.

Kory grinned cheekily. "I just thought, if I'm gonna be hanging out with you guys, I should definitely look the part."

Fushimi muttered under his breath, "You've got to be kidding me." Then, in an attempt to restore a more businesslike atmosphere, he questioned frankly, "Is there anything else you want to grab before we leave?"

Making his way across the disheveled room, Kory laughed. "Has anyone ever told you how fun you are to tease?"

He reached the corner where an overturned table once housed his answering machine. It had come unplugged. While he reassembled it all, words from the past filled Fushimi's mind. _Just as I thought. I really can't do without playing with my monkey every month...Gyahahahaha, you got angry, you got angry!...Don't make me laugh. I can't take it anymore. My stomach hurts...Too easy...How embarrassing...My little monkey never fails me..._

His hysterical cackle, ever present in the recesses of Fushimi's memory, resurfaced like nails on a mental chalkboard, and he couldn't help the cringe that followed. "Just one person," he mumbled, more obviously affected than he wanted to appear.

Picking up on this, Kory didn't press further, instead listening to his messages. Most of them were needless, and he didn't even bother to listen to each one fully. A couple friends from some computer club called to express their concern over his absence at that weekend's hacking competition. As he listened, he fingered through papers that had been scattered on the floor, mostly bills and some sticky notes he had written to himself. He set lamps back in their designated places and verbally called out to his answering machine to delete unwanted messages.

Stuffed inside a shredded seat cushion he found a printed note of which the contents made him shudder.

"10% of what Tokyo Central Bank keeps on hand in its vault. You're smart; do the math."

At the bottom of the paper was a hyperlink, and he mentally accessed it while standing an armchair upright to disguise his expressions. It was a backdoor to a website otherwise unknown to search engines, a single page with no connections to any other. It had been designed for his eyes, and his eyes only. Outlined in plain text was a demand that he use his abilities to acquire the full registrar of Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau, Fourth Annex's enabled persons. The drop off location was specified along with a deadline. In this case, _deadline_ was more than a simple figure of speech.

"Oi," Fushimi interrupted his thoughts roughly. "You find something suspicious?"

Realizing that he must look scared, he responded, "Nah, that last message was from my boss. I don't suppose you'd let me grab my Orange phone or a laptop so I could catch up on work?"

Having heard Ruri Hijiribe herself voicing her mild complaints on the recording, Fushimi had no reason to doubt that really was what had made Kory's face go pale. Something felt off about the over reaction, but the hipster was extra expressive in any case. Perhaps he actually did take his job seriously. Fushimi chose not to pry. He wasn't going to make any concessions either.

"No. The condition for receiving our protection is that you will have no access to any electronics. Someone in the agency will contact your job on your behalf."

Kory sighed at the thought of the continued deprivation and conceded, "In that case, I'm done." Even having said that, he snatched a Paisley scarf with bobbles from a toppled hat tree and tied it onto his bag like he couldn't survive without it.

Readjusting the shoulder strap on his beige, patent leather backpack that contained the handful of belongings he was allowed to bring onto the annex grounds, Kory followed as Fushimi turned on his heels to return to base.

* * *

A light rapping on the front door brought Cricket out of her peaceful slumber. She immediately stumbled up from the couch and made her way over, smoothing her long black locks back as she went. What she found there was not the cardboard box of DJ equipment she had been expecting to sign for, but a small cloth bag tied to her doorknob.

Curiosity creased her dark brow and she uncinched the sack only to find it stuffed with yen.

"Damn…" she muttered to herself while staring down at the money in wonder.

"Said I'd pay you back..." a voice reminded from the bottom of the steps.

Cricket gave the girl dressed in black pants and a dark grey sweatshirt a skeptical glance. Even with only the hood up and a little bit of olive green showing at the top of her jacket, it was easy to recognize the visitor. "This…"

"Is all that I stole from you, plus interest, and it's legit. I saved it from all the odd jobs I've had."

"You're bringing it now because…?"

"Because I owe it to you, and it's overdue."

Cricket leaned up against her doorway and eyed the hood drawn up around the other girl's face. "And you need something else now."

Azami looked at her shoes, feeling a little sheepish and with a laugh that confessed this, she admitted, "Kinda, but…more than that, you deserve it the most because…even when I was starting to drop off the deep end, you still tried to be a good friend, and I'm thankful for that."

Cricket blinked a little in surprise and then heaved a sigh while rolling her eyes, a coy smile slipping onto her lips. "I guess you might as well come in if you're going to keep casing the joint."

"I wanted to see if you were going to run me off your porch again first."

Cricket held up the bag. "You brought me money. I guess I should at least offer you a glass of water or something."

Azami climbed the three stairs with a level of difficulty that she didn't show on her expression. It had been a good idea to go get her extra supplies before heading to the more questionable side of town. The hospital had given her some dressing changes when she was discharged, but she would definitely need more.

After she found out about the secret of who her real King was, she had felt some unwanted trust issues growing and developed the need to have a stash outside her home base. Not expecting she'd ever really need it, she got a locker at a subway station and put a change of clothes, bandages, and her savings in it. It'd be safer there anyway.

Cricket observed her limp and voiced, "Looks like you got yourself into some trouble again."

 _You have no idea_ , Azami thought, but answered instead with, "Car wreck. I wasn't driving, just an innocent victim."

"No one is ever totally innocent," Cricket replied to her while using her foot to scoot some kid toys out of the way of her injured guest.

That was true. She had stupidly gotten into the car with Kenji when she should have known better, and she must have done _something_ to make people want to try to kill her in the first place. She still wasn't sure what yet, though.

"The twins are visiting?" Azami assumed by looking around at all the children's objects strewn about the floor. Cricket's home was on the border of the unsavory side of Shizume, but she usually kept a pretty clean house.

"They're living with me for now."

Azami looked up questioningly as she parked herself in an arm chair near the couch where the other female curled up with a tattered throw pillow. "Well, that's what happens to a family when a mom starts doing drugs."

The other looked down to her lap, her face going solemn. "That sucks…I'm sorry. I don't know what that's like. I didn't have a family anymore so the only person I could hurt was me."

"And the friends who cared about you."

"I'm sorry…"

The genuineness of her words and regret of her past came across plain in Azami's voice to one person who had lived part of it with her. Cricket regarded her silently with a little bit of an apologetic feeling in her gut. Maybe some people could change for the better, after all.

"So how did you get out of it anyway?" she asked.

"I didn't, not on my own. A friend saved me…gave me a purpose again."

Cricket looked down at her worn carpet and pulled gently at the fringe of the pillow, showing through actions that she was hoping for a more helpful answer than that—something with contacts listed and steps outlined, not just a per chance meeting that led to a miracle.

"You know, though," Azami tried again. "She's got a better chance than I ever did. She's got a family to come back to—she loves the twins, and you two are an unstoppable duo. Everybody goes through tough times, you know? But I'm sure when she remembers what she has, she'll turn around. Just keep believing in her, okay? And a little nudge the next time you see her couldn't hurt either."

The taller girl gave her a sidelong glance and a nearly grateful smile. Then she faced her squarely and inquired, "So what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now? And don't try to lie to me. You know I'll find out."

Azami had experienced firsthand how that could be true, and since they had kind of made up just now, definitely didn't want to damage that again. But while she knew Cricket had probably heard the tales about Kings and Clans the same as she had before she actually joined one, she doubted the older woman would understand or even care to know the politics of it all. Besides that, Azami would have to try to say things in a way that didn't give away any secrets. She bit her lip.

"I think…someone tried to kill me…?"

"You think?" Cricket repeated. "Who—" She shook her head upon remembering that Azami had had affiliations with numerous yakuza in the past and she probably didn't want to know who it was. " _Why_ do they want you dead?"

Azami hung her head. "I don't know. I'm trying to figure it out. I've been living a good, honest life for years now—no drugs, no hooking, no illegal negotiations…I've been working hard to help people, not give them reason to want to kill me. It doesn't make any sense."

Cricket leaned her head on her fist, her brows knit. "So what do you need?"

The shorter girl shrugged. "I dunno. Someone to listen with an unbiased opinion, bounce ideas off of…"

"A place to stay…" Cricket finished for her.

Azami laughed. "That'd be nice, too, but I won't hold my breath. I wanted to be somewhere close to the edge—"

"Hold up," Cricket interrupted, waving her hand in front of Azami's face. "On the edge? What did you just finish telling me? Now you want to get back _in_?"

"Not into the life. But I don't think the good and honest lifestyle is going to hide me very well right now. And maybe some of those guys have heard some chatter that might be helpful."

Cricket's dark eyes bored into Azami's so hard and for so long that she almost shifted uncomfortably from the seriousness of it. She held her gaze, however, knowing that Cricket was gauging her reaction for honesty. She had used this tactic a lot when they were younger.

At length, she slowly began to nod to herself, running a hand through her long tresses with a tiny smile before standing up and moving toward the kitchen. "Well, you know where the spare bedroom is. The twins are staying there, but they're off seeing the grandparents right now so you can sleep there."

Azami twisted in the arm chair and stared wide-eyed after the older girl. "What? _Really?_ "

"Sleep, not move in. And only for a few days, if you need it," Cricket clarified with a no-nonsense look over her shoulder.

"Arigatou…" Azami uttered in disbelief and then corrected herself with more enthusiasm, "Arigatou gozaimasu!"

Cricket waved back at her without turning around and, as she disappeared in the kitchen, her voice floated back, "Yeah, yeah. Just don't make me regret it again."

* * *

 _ **Also Arait cannot leave without ranting that the Gold King has recently established a blockade on her daily route to the Annex, and it is frequently causing an unnecessary delay. It's bothersome. True story. 100%. Just like the one shot Copilot we posted a month ago. That was also a true life story...ish... So check it out.**_


	16. Hunting Fushimi

Two men lay face down on the roof of a four story building. Propped up on their elbows, they peered over the concrete parapet at the scene below. Officers with blue uniforms and sabers on their hips patrolled the parking lot of the high income apartments. They were as efficient as a well-oiled machine, leaving no corner unguarded. Their formation indicated quite clearly the location of interest, however.

Motionless, unnoticed, the onlooker raised his gaze up the stairs to the third floor. A cloud of fog that coincided with each muted breath on the crisp, winter day stood out as the only change on the rooftop from second to second. The two men worked skillfully and patiently so as not to be spotted by the agents all around the area. They needed to make a thorough assessment of the full scene in order to chart a clear path.

As the line of sight shifted down the third story hallway in a broad scan, the limited range facial recognition software employed by the two men let out a digital chirp.

"Target acquired," the soft-spoken one affirmed in a low voice and then passed their shared set of binoculars to his partner.

The field glasses, in tactical black, were powered by an electric green which enabled additional features. Night vision, infrared sensing, and LTE connection to the internet could all be activated with the simple touch of a qualified green clansman. Even without power, they were still a high tech pair of goggles.

Raising them to his face, the second observer inquired, "Where?"

"Southeast apartment in the corner," the first replied.

Following those directions, the second also looked with the magnification device through a shattered window at the confirmed face of target Fushimi, Saruhiko. It chirped again and flashed green in recognition. _4000 points_ appeared in the upper right corner of the view, and the man behind the lenses hummed in surprise. That was a tempting sum, even for an upperclansman of significant rank. Being as they were officially off-duty, that would have to be a mission for another day. Besides, they had a different use for the Blue.

* * *

"I haven't seen her in days," was the answer Shun got.

"I-I don't know where she is," the young girl stammered to the taller Kazuki.

"You asked me yesterday!" the boy laughed. "Did she ditch you guys? That sucks."

The dual interrogators walked down the corridor from the mess hall with defeated steps. Kazuki's were much heavier and more dejected. "Don't worry, Shun. She didn't ditch us."

The dark haired boy gave him a look out of the corner of his eye that showed such a thing had never been his concern. Instead of vocalizing that, though, he suggested, "Maybe we should check the city again."

"She's not there! I looked everywhere! All the regulars and the manager say she hasn't been to the arcade. She's not at the docks. I even checked the gym where she used to train! No one's seen her!"

He sighed and then brought her picture up on his phone again as two boys meandered down the hall. One had a bruised face and the other had a bandage on his nose, but Kazuki was too distraught to be concerned about their welfare at the moment.

"Have you guys seen Hayashi, Azami?" he asked as calmly as he could manage, flashing them the picture. Their faces darkened.

"No, man, will you quit asking?" the one with the bandaged nose snapped.

"You're making people nervous," said the other.

Kazuki threw up his hands as they passed him by and shouted after them even though they didn't look back, "I will _not_ quit asking! Where is my short, female friend?"

"Why would we be making people nervous?" Shun wondered aloud.

Kazuki paused his theatrics as he pondering his friend's words. "What? Like they think maybe she's been kidnapped?"

Curiosity piqued again, Shun dialed Azami's number another time and put it on speaker.

" _The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again._ _"_

"It would only say that if her phone was shut off or broken."

"Or maybe she forgot to charge it again," Kazuki pointed out, but even he saw his partner's angle. "But that _would_ explain why she hasn't checked in and why we can't find her anywhere..."

 _Or maybe she turned it off on purpose because she just needed some time off. I don't want to get her in trouble. But wouldn't she have at least told me or Shun so we wouldn't worry or go looking for her? She totally would, right? Unless it was part of a classified mission..._ Kazuki considered this for some time and then, with renewed purpose, he spun on his heel and marched down the hall.

"Where are you going?" Shun asked.

"Time to call in the cavalry."

The quiet boy followed his loud and agitated partner down the hall, still asking every clansman he passed the same question and getting equally similar answers. They made their way to the other end of their headquarters where they came to two large doors to a familiar office. Kazuki opened these doors without knocking and revealed a tall man sitting at a great, intricately carved wooden desk. He glanced up at their entry.

"Ah, Kazuki, Shun, good morning." Broad shoulders, long black hair framed intelligent hazel eyes set into a sharp face, and that aura...this man could intimidate anyone, but Kazuki was not deterred by his appearance.

"Not yet, Souma-san," Kazuki addressed him frankly. "Did you happen to send Azami on a top secret mission?"

"I did not, though I suspect you would know even if I had," he remarked with a good-humored smile, despite not looking up from his reports.

"Then…" Kazuki glanced at Shun. "I think we have an issue to discuss."

"Oh?" Souma gave them his full attention then.

"She's gone. We can't find her anywhere! And we've asked everybody, but they're starting to avoid us."

"Can you blame them? Your persistence can be daunting at times," the acting King pointed out good-naturedly.

Kazuki knew that could be true. It was part of what made him a good investigator, but he was certain that was not the case now. "No, I...well, yeah, but...It's not like that. When we do get someone to talk, some really are clueless, but others seem to be vague on purpose."

"Or they give answers that sound rehearsed," Shun added and Kazuki gave him a look that appeared to say he either hadn't noticed that or he was glad someone else could confirm it.

"What are you suggesting?" Souma prodded.

"I…"Kazuki looked at Shun out of the corner of his eye for confirmation to which he received a silent nod. " _We_ think that something bad has happened to her-maybe she was kidnapped?" He paused and met Souma's eyes for a second. "And I think someone around here knows about it, but they either can't or _won't_ tell us. Maybe both."

Souma held his gaze with equal intensity and queried, "What steps are you proposing for finding the answer to your theory?"

"I think we need to dig deeper."

"Bring in some assistance," Shun added.

"Maybe press some boundaries," said Kazuki.

Souma leaned back in his chair, one arm crossed and holding his opposite elbow while he stroked his upper lip with a long pointer finger. He considered their suggestions a moment and then replied, "Since the return of the Green King Hisui, I no longer have the authority to approve a search and rescue mission of that magnitude."

"What about Hisui-san then? Maybe we can ask him?" Kazuki asked.

Souma did not waver in his contemplative posture. "I fear that with Azami's recent past involvement with other clans against orders, there may be some doubt regarding whether she is in any trouble at all or just showing a rebellious attitude."

Something about the tone of his answer didn't sit well with Shun. His voice responded with surety, "She;s loyal to _us_."

"Other clans," Kazuki repeated as something crept into the back of his mind like some unnerving, dark thing stalking his thoughts…

Stalking…

Stalker…

Creeper…

His eyes suddenly brightened with an idea. "Another clan! I know someone who can help us! Can I go ask him for assistance? He's really secretive and low-key…" He waved his hand, deciding to save the details for later, and converse to the concern his superior just expressed, requested, "Souma-san, can I have permission to go to the Blue Clan's base?"

Souma's expression remained flat and impassible, but he met both of their gazes individually for a moment, then leaned forward on his desk once more. "Let's address your initial question first. I see no reason why you should need my permission to go have a brief visit with an acquaintance of yours during your free time..."

Once the door was closed to the office and the boys were ambling discretely toward the exit, Kazuki again spoke with his companion.

"Did you get the feeling-"

"He knew more than he was saying," he finished Shun's thought.

The other nodded to himself, glad that he wasn't the only one who thought that and silently went over the exchange in his head again before another question arose. "Speaking of that, who are we going to enlist for help?"

"You're not gonna like it," Kazuki warned and then added, "I don't like it. But remember, we're doing this for Azami."

* * *

The jungle app hadn't always been the pervasive malware it had grown into. Like all programs, it had started quite small. It had been nothing but a database on a web server, keeping a record of various happenings across the city and a basic forum for people to make their submissions. The beta version released over seven years ago had been far more involved - including phone-to-phone communication, a user interface with games, and in-world "missions."

Even that was soon forgotten. Once it had been removed from the App Store, it became a novelty rivalling Flappy Bird in its legendary hype and bootlegged copies. With no updates and no new missions, though, the games quickly lost their appeal, and there were far more popular messaging apps. The name "jungle" disappeared from common usage, a lost and abandoned software.

A second beta version renewed the hype. Every preexisting account was automatically restored, sending notifications to the PDAs of people who hadn't used the program in years. Their real market, however, was with the next generation of teenagers. Adding to their lack of real-world obligations, the application's unauthorized adjustments to certain settings made quick work of getting the whole city hooked on it once again.

These were things Kazuki and Shun were hardly aware of. Since the beginning, they had made use of jungle as a resource where the city could collectively share data. As upperclansmen, they had access to admin features for filtering and searching the archives, and they had never thought it useful to bother with the GUI. To them it was a privilege to have internal access to all that information with none of the fluff.

That said, it had been a simple matter for the _true_ Green King, Hisui, Nagare, to restrict what of that information was accessible to any of his users, including admins. Hayashi's two friends would never find a clue within the clan regarding her current plight; their digital pathways were blocked, and their fellow clansmen wouldn't share upon threat of losing all their J Points.

Skilled informants always found a way. When they received permission from Souma to seek help from a personal acquaintance, it had been equally as much a warning not to let Scepter 4 as an organization become involved. That meant they had to find Fushimi alone somehow. Shun had suggested they search the forums and messaging records for recent deployment of Scepter 4 forces. There had been a streak of strain related criminal activity lately keeping the officers of the Special Police Force quite busy, and when they were at a scene, some jungle user in the neighborhood usually reported their presence for a couple points.

It was in this way that two men wound up on the roof of luxury condos spying on government agents with the intent of abducting one...temporarily.

"It's definitely a crime scene. The place is a disaster," Kazuki added, still looking through the binoculars. A few seconds later, he wondered, "Why's he just standing there? Shouldn't he be investigating or something?"

Shun replied with an unconcerned shrug. "So what's our plan? How do we get in?"

Kazuki tactically studied the layout of the building once more, trying to find an entry route that wouldn't get them caught before sighing out the reply, "If Azami was with us she could just climb the drainpipe and get in through the roof."

"If Azami was with us, we wouldn't be here," Shun reminded him.

"I know...I really miss her," Kazuki mumbled while he continued to assess the situation. A couple seconds of silence passed and then he said, "I don't think we're getting in." He handed the optics to his partner to confirm his observations. "They have Blues stationed near every entrance but the roof. Maybe if there's an underground parking garage..."

Shun hummed his agreement and then denied the suggestion, "If there is, they probably have officers there, too."

"So it would probably be a better idea to lay low nearby and try to grab him when he comes out," Kazuki suggested.

Shun concurred with a hum that ended abruptly in a strange noise in the back of his throat, followed by, "Are you sure this is a crime scene, not just a rendezvous at a bachelor pad?"

Kazuki's face creased and he uttered, "Huh?"

Shun handed the binoculars back and pointed at the window. "Who's that?"

Kazuki refocused on the window to see Fushimi was no longer alone, reluctantly chatting with another man of similar age. The reason for Shun's disturbed reaction was that this particular person was mostly unclothed, sporting only a towel and the body granted him by the gods. It definitely did not give the impression that this was a purely professional house call.

"That's BigDK," Kazuki muttered in surprise, calling to mind The Mystery Handkerchief Guy from a particular event ten months before. "A technopathic strain. Those two right there caused a big enough scene to get themselves kicked out of the arcade tournament in January." Still somewhat in shock, he muttered to himself, "The way he was acting I thought...but maybe not..."

Shun replied with a raised eyebrow.

Understanding the expression to mean 'Weren't they already flirting back then?' Kazuki answered, "Nah. At the time they were both sniffing around Azami in a way I didn't like. Guess I don't have to worry about that now..."

The end of his comment trailed into oblivion, leaving the two in awkward silence to ponder this new development while they went along with their former plan, waiting until Fushimi exited the building to try and corner him. Once he left the view of the window with the strain who he may or may not be involved with, the boys scrambled down the stairwell they had used to access the roof and hurried to the shadows of one side where they could continue to track him, but not be easily spotted.

This proved to be a fruitless effort, however, for as soon as the two emerged from the apartments, they were surrounded by the remaining officers on scene and Fushimi did not separate himself from the rest of the group as per his normal behavior. This seemed to prove their theory that perhaps he didn't mind so much being in close contact with the strain, even if it was inconvenient for their intentions. It was also unfortunate for Fushimi; though, he was unaware at this juncture.

The Green Clansmen were forced to tail the Blues back to their base and take up residence in a tree across the street. It was there that they could consume the takeout they had grabbed along the way and also be overshadowed by the browns and oranges of leftover fall leaves.

* * *

Fushimi hadn't left the annex all day. After having escorted Kory back from the condos, he hadn't so much as looked out a window. For the two men awaiting him just outside the gate, his isolated nature was a nuisance. Dinner came and went, through which they had Chinese takeout. Unbeknownst to them, while they laughed over Chow Mein and fried rice, their target hadn't even noticed it was time to eat. He had simply kept himself busy with paperwork.

"I just had the worst dream ever!" A particularly exuberant young man declared as he sat at a shared desk with the four former squad commanders who now made up half of the Special Duty Corps.

Somewhat concerned but also expecting exaggeration from that redhead, Akiyama acknowledged, "Is that so, Doumiyouji?"

He affirmed enthusiastically, "Yeah, it was awful! There were all these clocks with only one hand. But you couldn't tell if it was the hour hand or the minute hand or whatever because they were all moving at really weird rates. Like one was every ten seconds, and another was just whizzing by, and another was going really slow. Then, the Gold King was there saying creepy things like, 'choose your time' or 'your time is up.'"

He did his best to describe the feel of the dream by deepening his voice for Kokujouji's words and then continued, "Oh and everything was floating, like in the sky. And there were herds of elephants stampeding on the clouds!"

Having pondered the painted scene, Kamo suggested insightfully, "Have you considered the possibility that this was because, after working the night shift, you fell asleep in the rec room where Benzai, Enomoto, and Gotou were watching science videos?"

Benzai nodded his agreement. They had indeed been watching a documentary about weather conditions. "You were in and out of sleep the whole time, Doumiyouji," he added.

The young man sighed dramatically and rested his head on the table. "Just thinking about science makes me exhausted."

Fushimi clicked his tongue from his station across the room. _That moron didn't even know what it meant to have a nightmare._ For his part, lately Fushimi had been falling asleep with the light on. It wasn't like he was afraid of the dark or anything. He had been working late a lot; that was all.

He wouldn't admit to himself, much less anyone else, that he was avoiding sleep. Periodically there were phases when the subconscious world was crueler to him than others. Blood coursing between your fingers out of your side, looking up into the mirror to see yourself holding the knife, smoldering fires and suffocating smoke, where every door to leave the building holds a fatal trap... Three or four nights of that could persuade someone rest wasn't worth the trouble.

Fushimi did his best to distract his mind during those days, digging up some busy work that people had been putting off just for the sake of remaining focused. Idle hands could only worsen the problem. When he was too tired even to dream, then he would let himself drift off, maybe for a couple hours, with the lights still on.

He was in one of those phases. He didn't know why, but he also didn't particularly think it helpful to pry into the underlying causes, or unbury hatchets just because he still tripped over their handles. Therefore, around fifteen minutes before everyone else headed off to bed, Fushimi had the tendency to—intentionally or not—start a huge project. He might write a new Java script to perform some tedious task, make a phone call to overseas, or catch up on standard backlog. Sometimes it would be midnight without him even noticing.

Eventually there came a point where he had no more work to do. At that time, the search for ways not to sleep became even more desperate. He was waiting on an email in response to international correspondence on financial matters, which definitely had to come before the end of their business day. Taking into consideration the time change, the message would arrive in the next 30 minutes.

Resolved to fill that time with a variety of small things, he cleaned up his workspace, brushed his teeth (that still tasted like traces of the mayonnaise cake Yoshino from General Affairs had made. It had deceptively looked well done until he tasted it), and headed to his room to wake up his own PC. After it booted up and the clock appeared on the screen, he sighed that fifteen minutes still remained. He figured he might as well check his personal email. It wasn't like he frequently received messages there—aside from sales' notices at the knife supply store, and reminders that he hadn't logged on to his MMORPG account in quite some time. Every once in a while he just went in there to clear things out.

On this occasion there was also a message from VTube, which he opened to scan the contents just because he had nothing better to do. It read, "Suggestions you may like because you watched This Is Real Magic—Debunked!"

Scrolling through the list of offered videos did not evoke much curiosity, but one caught his eye. Less than ten seconds long, the description was of a man who combined special effects and CG to amplify the impact of his sleight of hand. Fushimi was by no means fooled by the trick, but he was intrigued enough to watch the next video in the series. A handful of videos later—of cheesy, fish crackers becoming real fish when poured into water, and changing the color of clothing by bounding through construction paper of various colors—Fushimi was convinced that this was something he could do. After all, he did need to develop a "creative hobby."

The most technically challenging aspect should have been learning to use the right camera angles, splicing footage together seamlessly, or designing the special effects. For Fushim, all that was straightforward enough with the proper online tutorial and a bit of practice. The hardest part for him was seeing himself on camera. Rather than bother with that, he decided his first project would be a throwing knife that turns into a bird and flies away. There was plenty of stock footage online of birds taking off, so all he really had to do was swap the background with his bedroom and merge it with the recording of the dagger wheeling through the air.

He worked on it for quite some time, and was making significant progress, when he started to nod off. Having become deeply engrossed in the project, he was determined to finish it all in one go, which meant he was in desperate need of a way to keep awake. Grumbling to himself about all the trouble _Munakata_ had caused him, Fushimi grabbed his coat and scarf and headed to the nearest convenience store for coffee.

Shortly thereafter, he concluded someone was definitely following him. He had first sensed watchful eyes just outside the annex's gate, but that could have easily been excused as the midnight chill of November. Brushing off the feeling as unjustified, he tightened the scarf around his neck and walked down the street.

The sensation didn't diminish. Even as he crossed the empty street in a governmental district that was as dead as a ghost town after the evening commute home, he couldn't help the urge to glance discretely behind him. No one was in sight. Whoever it was, they clearly weren't just average thugs. He continued on his way to the store, on alert for any changes. Fingers brushed against the hilt of a blade in the harness on his arm as a reassurance that he was prepared for any potential threat.

Automatic doors sucked open on their tracks, letting the air filled with the smell of fried snacks assault Fushimi's face. A few paces inside, he hung a right, and it was there amidst candy bars and chips that he whirled in defense against his pursuers. A single knife flew from the sleeve of one hand with perfect precision while he retrieved three more for his other in expectation of retaliation.

Kazuki had somewhat expected that, but it was still a bit of a surprise, having to think fast this late at night to evade a knife. Almost out of reflex, he waved his palm in front of where it was aimed at his face, leaving a trail of electricity in its wake to deflect the sharp scrawny boy in front of him let out a soft click of his tongue and threw a swift glance over his shoulder where Shun had circled around to enter the other end of the aisle. A deep frown had taken over his features at being attacked without them first saying a word, and his dark bangs lifted from his face in a burst of green static as he called on his aura. Fushimi was boxed in, but he didn't appear like he was opposed to the idea of fighting his way out.

"Whoa! _Whoa!_ Do you recognize me?" Kazuki cried, holding a hand up to halt Fushimi's next onslaught and also gesturing to calm his partner. He met the thin boy's scrutinizing squint and asked again, "Fushimi, do you recognize me? Kazuki? I was with Azami at the arcade?"

Fushimi relaxed visibly but didn't lower his weapons. "Do you think I'm an idiot? You're U-Rank, Green clansmen, ergo: a threat."

The friendlier of the two assailants assured without letting his guard down, "We're not here to fight."

Facetiously, the Blue replied with a scoff, "Which is why you staked out the annex and tailed me here to corner me in the middle of the night."

"Well we couldn't just corner you with your entire blue posse around. There's no way you'd listen to us then!"

Fushimi concluded that explanation must have been given without thinking at all. Repressing the urge to state that in either case what made the situation aggressive was being _cornered_ , he grumbled, "Why don't you just call the office during business hours like normal people?"

"Like you'd talk to us then either?" the quiet one behind him mutter with a scoff.

Kazuki shrugged with a calm smile, trying to put him at ease. "This way you can't hang up."

"If your business with me is worth hanging up, I'm leaving." Fushimi reinforced this declaration by moving to pass through the barricade.

Kazuki stepped further into his path and held out a hand still laced with a crackling green to stop him. "It's about Azami. Is that worth hanging up on?"

At that, Fushimi's apprehension melted into suspicion, and he snapped back, "What about her?" After all, these were the people who betrayed her, drugged her, and dumped her miles from the nearest town.

"She's gone missing."

Well that was obvious; she was hiding from them, the so-called 'family' that abandoned her. Instead of reacting that way, however, Fushimi was determined to feel them out, to see if their intentions were worth warning Hayashi.

"And...?" he asked shortly, leaving the implication hanging that he wanted to know what it had to do with him.

"And we've looked everywhere for her. Nobody can tell us where she is, and she won't answer her phone." Kazuki was either trying unsuccessfully to hide his distress or failing miserably to feign to act frantic.

Fushimi frowned slightly, unable to discern his level of sincerity. "What makes you think I can find her when your clan is the one with unlimited technology and spy cameras all over this city?"

At the mention of that fact, Kazuki relaxed his stature and looked down at the floor. That had already been taken into consideration in their search, but with the reports of the strain rebellion coming in and after their strange discussion with Souma, they had begun to feel suspicious about how secure their normal methods could be. Fushimi stating this tactic reminded him that he should be more careful about the use of her name, if being compromised was a possibility.

He chose a different title that he thought the tech would still understand. "Our girl told me you can do things with computers that no one else can. Was she wrong about that?"

An uncomfortable feeling stirred in Fushimi's stomach at the sound of "our girl," and he clenched the fist that wasn't holding his knives. There was nothing he could do with a computer that their king could not. Or Kory for that matter. Or when that man was still alive. Shoving all that aside, he flaunted a conceited smirk.

"So what is it that you need from me that you can't do yourself?"

"Help me and Shun find her," the green man pleaded. "She's been gone for days, and she hasn't even called to check in. That means she's off the grid and pro'lly not in our territory anymore, so something bad must have happened. We don't just need a technical expert. We need a cop too."

Still faking disinterest, Fushimi questioned, "What makes you think I'll help you?"

Taken aback by the continued harshness, Kazuki paused and then called to mind Azami's former words about this person which had followed her praise of his computer skills. _While he can do things you wouldn't believe with technology, it doesn't really teach good people skills._ He was thoroughly seeing the truth of that! He had to keep trying, for Azami.

"Aren't you supposed to be her friend, too?" the boy behind the Blue inquired.

Fushimi was so surprised that he didn't even control his initial reaction. "Hah?" When Kazuki replied only with eyebrows raised in question, allowing time for the emotional appeal to set in, Fushimi pulled back from the lapse in composure with a click of his tongue. Monotonously he recited, "According to the Confidentiality Clause in the Privacy Act of the Tokyo Legal Affairs Bureau, Family Register Section, we are forbidden from disclosing the location of any enabled being."

"Come on, man," Kazuki sighed, his cheerful tone lowering an octave as exasperation began to set in. "Don't spout your Legal Affairs Bureau crap at us. We're all clansmen, and we know the rules of registering. That's why we came to our _acquaintance_ Fushimi in _casual_ clothes to talk about our _friend_."

Finally understanding the whole stalking part, the Scepter 4 agent realized it was likely a wise idea not to involve the bureau in such a touchy matter. He allowed himself to calm with a sigh and slipped the three daggers back inside his coat sleeve so quickly it would be easy to miss. They would be as simple to retrieve as they had been to store if for any reason the two green clansmen gave him renewed reason to distrust them. In fact, he still had no intentions of sharing any information regarding Hayashi. However, he knew they did not come meaning him harm, and he was willing to hear what they had to say.

"What do you know?" he inquired, quite bluntly.

Kazuki scratched at the back of his neck. "Not much. She's been gone almost a week already. We saw her the morning she left to do recon, and that was it. Some people say they saw her come home and go to bed, but others say they didn't see her at all or give totally vague answers."

The response was quite long for what the first two words implied without containing any real information. Fushimi got the idea this Kazuki used this tactic often to try to draw out as much of what the other person knew as he could since he always seemed to talk a lot. The tech looked away, almost as if to reassure he wouldn't fall into the trap, directing his eyes aimlessly to the less appealing, vegetable flavored chips on the second to bottom shelf.

"Figures..." he mumbled in disappointment to the snack foods. They really knew nothing; even he knew more than that. He wondered if the clan of _technology_ even bothered trying to trace her movements that day.

Starting to lose his patience with the antisocial blue, Kazuki demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Even though he didn't trust the two men, Fushimi slipped a hint of knowledge their way to see how they would react, "She 'didn't know' anything either."

The reply was sincerely surprised (not that Fushimi picked up on the fact). "What? You've seen her? Where?"

"Somewhere safe." Fushimi knew he should have stopped there, but a little uncontrolled anger escaped in the added phrase, "from you."

"Safe from us? We're not who's a danger to her. You know just as well as we do what's going on in this city right now. They're recruiting people. What do you think they're going to do about a talented green clansman who's off on her own?"

Knowing he would only reveal more than he wanted if the conversation continued, Fushimi decided unilaterally that he had indulged them quite enough. Once again he tried to sidestep the human blockade, but when Kazuki got in his way this time he tossed aside etiquette and pushed on through.

Still, he felt inclined to have the last word. "I guess you people should have thought of that," he concluded, back facing the green clansmen. "Don't try to include me in your internal issues."

Kazuki stared incredulously after his receding back until Shun stepped to his side and snapped, "What? After all that?"

The brunette's eyes narrowed and, with a voice loud enough for Fushimi to still hear, apologized, "Sorry, Shun, I was wrong. I guess he's just a creepy stalker, after all!"

If Fushimi was offended by the words, he didn't show it for the doors soon sucked shut with his final parting. Kazuki's jaw clenched then and anger overtook him for a moment long enough that he reached out and smacked the nearest object, which happened to be a case of sports drinks perched on top of a hip-level tower of different flavors. The bottles hit the hard tile with such force that lids blew off and the plastic casings exploded, flooding the floor with a brightly colored puddle of sugary liquid.

Shun looked up at his partner in wonder. It wasn't often that Kazuki lost his temper and it was an even rarer occasion when he was angry enough to destroy something. This showed clear through the surprise on Kazuki's own face and the apologetic offer to the startled clerk behind the counter, "I'll pay for that."


	17. A Series of Bad News

_**Ta-dah. Not too long this time!**_

* * *

Fushimi did his best to act as if the morning was no different from any other. Work went on without variation, at least. A few delegates from the Intelligence Division were in the main control room, and Fushimi wasn't quite sure what for, except that it was some sort of training. It was turning out to be a calm day thus far, with no major disturbances since returning from the convenience store. That outing, or more specifically the encounter with some green clansmen therein, was what Fushimi was trying to forget. The lack of sleep wasn't helping any on that account.

He was following online trails that might lead to accomplices of the Mouri brothers when Lieutenant Awashima approached his desk decisively. Her posture was straight as a nail, her footsteps heavy in their boots. Knowing she wasn't there for small talk, her subordinate glanced listlessly past the unflattering uniform to her face. She clearly had a purpose in mind for him that would interfere with his plan to have a medial day.

"Fushimi-kun," she began, consciously avoiding his dismayed expression. "You are to accompany me on a request sent to us by the Gold Clan."

"What are they doing asking even more of us?" He mumbled his dissent, uncharacteristically verbal from the fatigue.

Awashima did not overlook the disrespect, replying, "Munakata offered. It is a simple conveyance of a package. It's either that, or I'll take Akiyama with me and you can lead swordsmanship drills in his stead."

That was not a preferable alternative, so Fushimi stood with a sigh. "I don't see why you need my help if it's so simple."

Even though he said that contrarily, he wasted no time in joining her, which brought a wry smile to Awashima's lips with a huff. "And go to a black-market exchange without the hidden weapons user?"

Fushimi didn't make another complaint until they arrived at their destination. At the fork in a road paved with cobblestones was a locally owned bar. The wooden storefront shone a familiar color, and the nameplate was unmistakable.

"Haaaaah?" His reaction was stunned. HOMRA? What did they have to do in that place?

The lieutenant didn't hesitate to climb the concrete steps, however. Opening the door caused the bell on its hinge to jingle pleasantly, which caught the attention of the man behind the bar. Kusanagi had been busy receiving critique on a new virgin cocktail from his preteen king, but he interrupted their discussion to welcome their guests.

"Oh, Seri-chan!" He greeted in surprise. "And Fushimi? To what do I owe this honor?"

Awashima replied in all seriousness, "I'm afraid this time I come on official business."

The statement was highlighted by the blue uniform and the saber at her side, which Kusanagi regretted not having noticed before he spoke. His face sank from delight at seeing her to deep concern. He shifted his gaze to Anna who nodded her approval of the inter-clan meeting.

Inside Bar HOMRA there were only a handful of people. A couple tables had customers seated at them who had quietly been enjoying themselves but went silent upon sensing the tension between the bartender and the officers. Dewa and Chitose relaxed on the sofa by the jukebox, leisurely browsing magazines appropriate to their respective interests. They watched their blue rivals with skepticism, ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Fushimi returned the sideways glance, resting his own hand on the sword at his side, as he approached the counter with Awashima.

Despite her insistence that they hadn't come for pleasure, Kusanagi invited with the forced smile of someone experienced in customer service, "Please have a seat."

Awashima followed the nod of his head to the guests who had abandoned their brunch and understood he wanted to maintain a friendly atmosphere for the sake of his own business. She pulled out a cushioned stool and sat with class. When she crossed one leg over the other, the fabric of her skirt bunched together, leaving not an inch of inner thigh to the imagination.

Fushimi clicked his tongue at the whole scene and looked away only to catch Anna's stern gaze. Wordlessly she indicated that he too ought to sit, specifically between his lieutenant and herself. He did as he was told; although, he wasn't entirely comfortable with it.

"How can we help you?" Homra's spokesman offered agreeably.

Awashima leaned forward, resting her arms on the polished wood surface. "We're here to discuss a recent shipment you received from Germany."

"Oh?" Kusanagi chuckled. "I didn't realize your king was interested in imported beers."

"He has enough interest in it to know the price you paid is way out of line for even the finest of alcohol."

That was a bit of an exaggeration. Sometimes a single bottle of wine could sell for several thousand dollars. She effectively made her point, however. The size of shipment indicated the product was for serving customers. Ales of top notch quality were much less than that. Still, Kusanagi played his cards cautiously.

"Don't judge it until you've experienced the flavor, Seri." Reaching under the counter, he revealed one of the beers in question. It was a gorgeous, amber color, glistening in a dusty ray of light. The bartender popped off the top and poured a portion of the contents into an iced becher, forming just the perfect head on top.

Even though she had flat out refused to be served as a customer, Awashima did not reject the glass set before her. Raising it to her mouth, she took a whiff of its complex aroma and then sipped it lightly. Between two swallows, she picked up the bottle itself to examine the label. Fushimi's eyes widened at the sight of his superior drinking on duty. She only indulged momentarily before setting the drink aside, though.

"It is delectable," she couldn't deny. "But my previous remark stands. It isn't worth what you paid for it."

Kusanagi hummed. "Isn't a poor use of money my business and not yours?"

"That might be the case, if we didn't happen to know that you also acquired an artifact from Dresden. The Gold Clan wants it back."

"If it's them who want something, why haven't they come themselves?" He continued to beat around the bush, neither confirming not denying.

"This is friendly business," Awashima warned stiffly. "We can make it contentious if you prefer."

Yielding to Anna's opinion on the matter, Kusanagi turned to her for a cue. After all, he could hold his own both physically and verbally, but whether or not to become combative was ultimately up to her.

The young king kept her eyes straight ahead as she concluded definitively, "If Daikaku were to reclaim it himself, that would be different, but we do not intend to hand all of the pieces over to the Blues."

Kusanagi shrugged as if to say, 'You heard the girl.'

Awashima replied with a humph and stood to her feet. "We'll be in touch," she assured, heading for the door.

Fushimi followed but hesitated when he heard the sound of footsteps behind them. When he turned to look in that direction, the newcomer was Kamamoto, making an appearance from the kitchen with a package of butter cookies. Kusanagi noted the disappointment on the visitor's face and thought he knew exactly why.

"If you're looking for Hayashi-chan, she's gone," he revealed.

The reaction was nearly invisible, showing only a hint of a question in normally bored eyes. It was enough for Kusanagi to know he hit the spot.

He continued, "She must have felt well enough to figure she could make it on her own."

Fushimi clicked his tongue. _The moron. Didn't she know how dangerous that was?_ He tried to act like it was her own decision that didn't matter to him at all. Still, the whole way back to base he couldn't get Kazuki's pleading words out of his head.

 _You know just as well as we do what's going on in this city right now...What do you think they're going to do about a talented green clansman who's off on her own?_ The question made his thoughts hitch. If she was alone, the rebels would definitely be after her. What was that hothead thinking, letting her get away?

Upon returning to headquarters, a stack of reports, receipts, and requests had been piled on his desk by other clansmen. Most of them only needed the approval of a superior officer and official filing. Despite the displeased moan he gave at seeing the extra work, he finished it off in a timely manner

Rubbing his fingers into his tired eyes, Fushimi considered the possibility that maybe it was time to actually make an earnest effort to force himself to sleep. That thought quickly flitted out of his mind, however, when he grabbed for his can of coffee and laid his drowsy optics on one of the remaining folders on his desk. It was the file the hospital had given him on his way out the door. Bored with his current task, he absently began thumbing through it in hopes that some clues he had missed would jump off the page at him. Unfortunately, the only thing that did was the notation of an affirmative response next to the question "Before this incident, was the patient sexually active?" which took him back to his thoughts around the time when he found that out.

He clicked his tongue and pulled his attention away from the pages, feeling the heat of anger rising in him once more. His emotional scale had gone to so many different extremes in the past few days that it was taking quite a toll on him. His only saving grace in this case was that the results of Azami's rape kit came back negative, just as she said it would. In the end, though, that still raised the question: _How did she know it would?_

At any rate, he should probably add it to her file in Scepter 4's database. Since she was a super-powered person, the bureau undoubtedly had one on her so it was his duty to keep it up to date. At least, that's what his excuse was and not that he was simply curious about what else he may find.

He typed her information into the search criteria, and one search result appeared. He pressed enter and then sat up straight against the back of his chair when he was greeted by a screen flashing red and a yellow alert box that popped up to warn him that the file was sealed by local police. Luckily, his sound was turned off or the whole office would have known about the discovery. He pondered the situation for a moment since he didn't run across this very often as most everything was open to Scepter 4. If this file had been sealed by the police department before they sent it over, that likely meant that whatever report was in there was on a minor.

Curiosity got the best of him. He could easily cover his tracks in a way that would make it appear nothing had ever happened and would take days before anyone would even find it if they were looking for it. He glanced nonchalantly around the room behind him to make sure no one was watching his activities and then broke security on the file.

The report that opened definitely looked like it could have been on the same Hayashi, Azami, but from a different lifetime. The report that opened definitely looked like it could have been on the same Hayashi, Azami, but from a different lifetime. She was much younger (15 he learned as he skimmed though the descriptive information), but had the same eyes and facial structure in the surveillance photos included, though her optics did seem darker underneath against skin that was a bit paler.

He glanced down to the charges listed: _possession of drugs and drug paraphernalia with intent to sell_ , though she had not officially been charged as a criminal. With a frown, he skipped through the details of the time, location, and all the officers on scene except for the one who was in charge and who was also writing the report, Officer Toriyama. He slowed down once he reached the full details of the event.

There had been a raid on a party where, their intel had informed them, there would be some serious drug trade going on behind the scenes; Azami was in the middle of it.

 _There had been more guests at the party than had been originally anticipated and we had to call in another squad for backup. Hayashi, though we didn't know her name at the time, along with a small group of party-goers had been detained outside lined up along the siding of the house. When backup arrived, I went to explain the situation, but during the short debriefing, Hayashi disappeared. She had switched shoes with another guest that were more suitable for running and was spotted hopping the fence in the backyard by my partner, Tanaka. We chased after her._

 _It quickly became apparent that Hayashi had likely partaken of some of the drugs herself, taking unsafe risks such as running into busy intersections, sliding across moving cars, etc. It also was obvious that she had been trained in the increasingly popular art of parkour._

Fushimi skipped down though the following paragraphs as Azami evaded the police by vaulting over fences into enclosed yards, scaling the side of a building, and swinging over, around, and across street signs for several blocks. It was comparable to the memory he had of when she had forced him into a game of tag around the city at the time of the arcade tournament back in January. But this time she made a wrong turn.

 _The entire street was blocked off by fire trucks and the victims of a fire in a six story apartment building. She wouldn't have been able to move very far very fast in the crowd and it seemed as though we had finally cornered her. But then she ran into a three story hotel next door. Tanaka and I followed her up the stairs to the roof. When we joined her there, she was standing near the north edge of the parapet and looking down at the second story of the apartment building where the fire had eaten through the south wall and a hole in the floor._

" _Nowhere left to go now. It's over," Tanaka warned her._

 _She turned to face us then, but for every step we took forward, she took one back closer to the edge._

 _Not wanting to have a mess on our hands, I tried to make a deal. "Come on, kid, come away from from the edge; we know you're not doing this alone. A young girl like you running a drug ring? Just tell us who your handler is and we can make you a deal. Just maybe this won't go on your record..."_

 _She was staring blankly at the roof near my shoes like she was seriously considering the offer. I tried giving her one last little push. "Your parents wouldn't want to see you behind bars. Let's give them a break, huh?"_

 _Her eyes came up to stare into mine and something dark flashed there for just a second. Then she turned and ran three steps to the edge and jumped. Tanaka and myself had ran after her, but we were too late to catch her. We could only watch as her jump dropped her straight through the wall and the hole in the floor, directly onto a rescue air cushion inflated by the fire department. Again, it goes without saying, this sort of irrational behavior was consistent with someone who had impaired judgment._

 _You think?_ Fushimi scoffed to himself. She essentially just pulled off what would be like trying to drop a banana back into its skin from a skyscraper. He was fairly certain even the reckless Hayashi these days wouldn't try something like that.

The report concluded with: _By the time we reached the street again, she was long gone. We conducted a search both on our way back to the scene of the bust and the streets surrounding the scene of the fire after all the prisoners had been shipped away, but she had never been found. It wasn't until we did research back at headquarters that we discovered her name via two other reports and associated news articles. In one, an officer had been called to a bar where there had been a disturbance. One of the customers had gotten pretty confrontational and when the officer was making the arrest, the man wrestled the gun from the officer, put the barrel in his own mouth, and pulled the trigger. This was her father. The second report was of a gang war where, among the fallen gang members, an innocent civilian by the name of Hayashi, Katsu had been a casualty of the crossfire._

Following up on the two other mentions of "Hayashi," Fushimi found no records of them in Scepter 4's registration database, which was ordinary; although, they should have at least been noted in the _emergency contacts_ or _next of kin_ fields of her enabled persons profile. A quick search of other resources they had access to, however, pulled up an obituary in the local newspaper celebrating the life of a husband and father who gave into depression after the death of his wife and was survived by children Katsu and Azami. The search also turned up the police report of Katsu's untimely death, a bystander in a drive-by.

There was no obituary for him, which led to the conclusion that no extended family remained to mourn the loss. Fushimi had the whole timeline spread across his screen. Her mother died. Then her father. Then her brother. It was a tragic series of events that wouldn't have fazed the jaded boy at that age. Clearly it had taken a toll on her in the immediate aftermath. The Hayashi family photo in the obituary strongly resembled those that had littered the Yata house: a little chaotic, but satisfied. The one associated with the police suspecting her of dealing drugs was one of a wearied, disenchanted person.

The next evidence of Azami's existence was her registration with the Legal Affairs Bureau as a member of the Green Clan. Fushimi selected the edit feature of Scepter 4's electronic filing program and began to enter the details of Hayashi's hospital admission. He found himself straining to keep a level head in spite of the information included. Drugged and ditched by her own clan... Jungle reared its malicious head again. The mean pranks they had played on Kuroh and Neko since reawakening from hiding underground were bad enough. Kidnapping a child strain from another clan was already over the top. Betraying one of their own was a new level of virulence altogether.

It wasn't like Fushimi was feeling something like empathy. He just _understood_ why she might decide to run away from everyone. While Hayashi was probably sufficiently capable of surviving alone in the world. _If it weren't for the current strain rebellion, that was,_ his mind nagged. He definitely wasn't worried about her; he just detested the Green King. He knew she wouldn't get herself involved in that kind of life again; she was smarter than that.

Then again, he was quickly realizing he didn't really _know_ her at all.

As soon as business began the next morning, he stood in the king's throne room before the desk of Captain Munakata, Reisi, for the second time that month not at all dressed in uniform, and stated nonnegotiably, "The only way to subjugate the strain rebellion is to examine their tactics, their intentions, and their assets through the eyes of their potential recruits."

Munakata knit his fingers together like he was thoughtfully considering the validity of such a suggestion. Though easily perceiving Fushimi was stretching the truth, he didn't comment on the matter. Fushimi, in turn, volunteered nothing. They simply discussed the business pros and cons of handling their current case in an undercover manner. After proffering some sage and mildly implicative advice, Munakata sent him off to abandon the cause of his clan and the safety of Japan to chase after a girl with the stamp of approval of a king.

Standing off to the side Zenjou observed the exchange, as he had been called to report on his success at contacting former members of Scepter 4 under the previous king. With some concern, he inquired after the third-in-command's departure, "You do know he isn't going after the rebels, don't you?"

Feigning surprise, Munakata responded, "Oh? You do not trust his word?" After a pause just to see how Zenjou would react when accused of disagreeing with the king. He may have been slightly uncomfortable, but the demon didn't back down. Munakata continued, "And with good reason, as Fushimi-kun was indeed lying."

"And you aren't at all concerned, giving him that much freedom and allowing him to abandon his mission?"

"Quite to the contrary," the king countered regally, "I seem to feel, surely, this too is a skill imperative for Fushimi-kun to hone in the near future. And who are we to say it will not also put an end to the rebellion, as an after effect?"

Zenjou grunted his understanding (though not necessarily agreement), which prompted Munakata to return to their previous topic, "Now, where were we?"

* * *

 _ **So that was a little bit shorter than normal, and maybe a tad abrupt? That is because something happened during the night that immediately made Fushimi's mind over to chase after Azami. It's too...mature to add to the main storyline, so Kateracks and Arait have opted not to include it here. However, if there is anyone calloused and twisted enough to be unaffected by the horrors that plague people like us at night, pop over to read A Bad Dream. **_

**_It's not entirely necessary, so if you're young, sensitive, or pure, don't read it._**


	18. Sasuke

_**This chapter was so fun for me (Arait) to write! I hope you all enjoy it too. Fushimi sets out on his journey to find Hayashi.**_

* * *

Sasuke. Yes, it could be a person's name, but that wasn't so in this case. The address in the mapping application of his Orange brand phone was not leading him to an individual's home. Instead, Fushimi's current destination was a well known part of the metropolis of Japan's southeast coast: Midoriyama.

The terrifying nightmare which woke him up at four AM left him restless yet again. Having no clear leads to follow in his search for Hayashi, he had decided to start with the obvious. Aside from her loyalty to the Greens, she had her attachment to parkour. Fushimi knew nothing of the sport, but he knew where to find answers. A quick internet search for "parkour events" had responded with the name of the rival of a popular manga ninja. The similarity in names may or may not have been meaningful, but at least he had a location.

Now that day had come, conveniently the day of the event, he made his way there. It would take an hour and a half to get there by train, forty-five minutes by car, and even less if he cut through the lesser used city streets. For that reason, he chose to sign out one of the Annex's V6 GT-Rs and drive himself. It would likely also be useful for chasing down leads all over the city afterwards.

The GPS on his PDA directed him step-by-step to the event. Sasuke had the appearance of a muddy river flowing through an outdoor, sports complex. Despite Fushimi's immediate distaste for the place, it was bustling with all sorts of people. The stands were full of cheering spectators: the children, parents, and lovers of the participants. It was not a team sport; that much was clear from the lack of uniforms. Still, everyone greeted one another as friends first, competitors last.

Amidst the sweatpants, headbands, and moisture-wicking tank-tops, Fushimi was strikingly out of place in jeans and grey converse. One man passed by dressed in brilliant colors, clearly a professional wrestler. Another had the surgically altered face of an angel, perfect complexion, and the latest trends in workout apparel, shimmering like a real life instantiation of a character from Enomoto's otome. A closer look at the eyeliner and perfectly preened brows revealed the identity of the boy band idol.

Fushimi knew if he were to get information about his query, it would be from the hardcore athletes, and if he wanted audience with them, he would have to find a way to fit in. At a concessions stand selling sports drinks from the event's sponsors, a couple men with huge cameras stood around chatting over beverages. They were comparing specs of their equipment and its quality of high speed shooting. None of that was of any interest to the off-duty officer. What caught his attention was actually the press badge lying on a ten gallon cooler next to one of the cameramen's keys. He was so deeply involved in his pointless conversation that the lanyard was easy to swipe.

Therefore disguised as a journalist, Fushimi delved further into the thick of the crowd. Finding someone who authentically looked like the right type of athlete, he approached with the same confidence earned as a member of the Special Police Force.

"Excuse me. I am looking for a particular female parkourist by the name Hayashi. If you know where she is, could you point me in the right direction?" The question was simple and vague - a propos for an initial inquiry.

The young man, who had been putting on a bizarre type of shoes with only a thin, leather sole and a gap between the first two toes, looked up and scratched his head thoughtfully. "Parkour? Those guys over there are traceurs. They might know."

That was exactly the kind of information he needed. Briefly giving the man a compulsory "thanks," Fushimi headed to the indicated pair of _traceurs_ while making a mental note of the official name for someone who participated in the sport of parkour. He was quickly realizing from all the French words, the sport must have originated there.

The pretend reporter used the same approach on these two men as the last, making sure to use the proper terminology.

The first - short, bald, and intense like a warrior from the past - stroked his chin as he responded, "Hayashi, Hayashi... Why does that name sound so familiar?"

His companion was taller, younger, and appeared less Asian with long, curly hair loosely pulled into a bun. When Fushimi's gaze fell on him, he denied, "Nah, I'm new here. Still a rookie. I don't really know that many people."

Had it only been the hippy, Fushimi definitely would have sought answers elsewhere, but the prematurely bald guy had entered some sort of meditative trance trying to recall from where he knew the surname. As if a child with a bright idea, the younger one bounced lightly on his feet and ran off.

That left a fake reporter attempting to interview a body whose soul had entered another realm.

"Okay then..." He uttered at the collection of strange people in that place.

Just when he was ready to give up on those two, the younger returned, hastily dragging along behind him a man in his thirties in a tracksuit and sweatband. "I found you a veteran. If anyone knows that traceur you're looking for, it'd be him. He's been coaching the best for years."

"You're too kind," the newcomer thanked according to customary etiquette. Then turning to Fushimi, he offered politely, "How can I be of assistance?"

He repeated his question with audible fatigue, "I'm looking for a girl called Hayashi."

The man frowned like the name also said something to him but the idea didn't fully compute. "A girl?" He reaffirmed. "Sorry. I don't know of any. Unless... Hey Ryota, wasn't Katsu a Hayashi?"

At that the man addressed broke out of his meditative state and slammed a fist onto his palm. "Katsu. That's it."

"Didn't you two used to train together sometimes?"

Ryota nodded. "A long time ago. I could never forget that boy."

Fushimi refrained from pointing out that he basically had forgotten, but any information that may have been gathered regarding Hayashi's brother Katsu would have to wait. A dramatic voice came over the loudspeaker calling Hisakawa, Ryota to the starting block. Rolling his shoulders with a series of cracking sounds, the bald athlete left for his attempt at the obstacle course. Both men who were his competition sincerely wished him luck.

After his departure, the so-called veteran turned back to their supposed interviewer. "If you don't mind waiting a few minutes, Ryota should be able to assist you. They," he paused briefly, "were pretty close friends."

The usage of past tense did not escape Fushimi's notice, recalling to mind the police report that he had read regarding the gang-related, drive-by shooting. Feigning ignorance, he figured he might be able to learn more from those still around him. "They _were_?"

"Katsu was murdered a number of years ago. It was a major shock to all of us." He seemed to realize then that the conversation had taken a negative turn and corrected too politely, "Ah, sorry, that isn't what you had asked about. He came to a competition with his little sister one time, a little spunky thing. She might be around your age now."

That was promising. Fushimi decided it was worth waiting for, and watched - somewhat patiently - as Ryota attempted to clear the course. He did well, taking his time to navigate each obstacle without falling behind the time limit. While the man's two fellow participants cheered him on from the sidelines, Fushimi was called away by a familiar voice.

"Ora, Fushimi-kun, I was unaware that you also cared for such demonstrations of athletic prowess. If you wanted the time off, you could have simply asked rather than claiming to go out on business."

Regal even out of uniform, Munakata, Reisi had spotted his subordinate from afar yet still made a show of having stumbled across him per chance.

With an unpleased expression, Fushimi sighed his reply, "I am working. There is a potential victim of the rebellion known to frequent these events."

"Oh? Is that so?" As usual, Munakata's grin was eerily piercing as he took an abnormal interest in theoretical possibilities. "You would be here undercover, then? I apologize for compromising your mission. Is this your presumed identity?"

Fushimi grumbled his dissatisfaction. "Basically."

The Blue King, in his high-collared jacket zipped almost to the neck, hummed contemplatively. Even off-duty from the standpoint of his government job, Munakata could not bear to let a single matter go unhandled. "May I suggest some improvements?"

He was answered by an annoyed clicking sound. "What are you even doing here? Shouldn't you be at Mihashira Towers, or something?"

"Forgive me for needing a few hours of _detente_."

Fushimi grumbled, "Please don't speak to me in foreign languages."

Munakata laughed so heartily it sounded fake. "In fact, I have been a fan of the international Ninja Warrior franchise for many years. I make time to attend every season."

Somewhere in his king's explanation Fushimi got distracted by a second person at a short distance. Originally he had no reason to believe that person was in any way associated with the captain's appearance, but they hadn't moved an inch since his arrival. Disguised head-to-toe in a juniper colored fabric that was both supple and durable, they were not easy to identify initially. Even gender was somewhat concealed, at least at first glance.

"Is that...?" Fushimi interrupted to present his suspicion.

Entirely unfazed by the abrupt change of subject, Munakata sparkled after glancing back momentarily at his companion. "Indeed. It is a ninja."

"No," his favored agent corrected immediately. "It's the hired mercenary from JUNGLE."

Munakata did not deny such a statement; he merely added, "Who is a ninja."

"And just what exactly made you think it would be a good idea to release her?"

"Release?" He let out another artificial chuckle. "I rather prefer to call it a temporary, supervised parole."

Fushimi really could do nothing but sigh.

Douhan finally spoke up for herself. "Enough of this. I'm gonna hit the warm-up course."

As she left, Munakata spared the time for one last comment before joining his charge, "If it is as we suspect, that these enabled persons are actively recruiting anyone with no ties, would they not certainly seek out someone abandoned by their own clan?"

Fushimi clicked his tongue. "She's bait." _That man really was too twisted for a public official._

As the long-haired hippy threw an arm around Fushimi's shoulder asking, "Was that creepy guy a friend of yours?" the Blue clansman couldn't deny the strategy was clever. A person whose loyalty belonged to the highest bidder could easily be bought.

Sloughing out of the unwarranted hug, he replied truthfully, "My boss."

"Creepy..."

A few moments later the crowd roared its collective approval as Ryota reached the top of the final obstacle - a fourteen foot high, curved wall - earning himself a place in the next round. He returned to his friends wiping sweat from his face with a towel and shaking out his strained muscles. He was welcomed with words of congratulation.

After that came the logical question, "So how was it?"

Ryota's reply was straight to the point. "Harder than last year."

The youngest mentioned optimistically, "But clearly not impossible, since you did finish."

Once a few more, similar pleasantries were exchanged, Ryota gave his attention to the topic that had previously been interrupted. "What did you want to know about Katsu?"

Fushimi answered without adding anything unnecessary. "More accurately, I'm looking for his sister."

"His sister? Is she here?" Stoic as he was, Ryota still became excited at the possibility of the Green girl's presence.

"That's," Fushimi paused, considering the proper way to respond discretely, "unconfirmed. But would you be able to point me in the direction of a person who might know? A training partner, for example."

"She was just a kid when I knew her. As far as I knew it was just Katsu teaching her odds and ends. When he...was killed we all lost track of her. Is she in trouble?"

Ignoring the concern, the mock-journalist pried further, "And since then? Have you seen her at all?"

Ryota thought for a second before answering cautiously, "Once. But even that was five years ago. At an event called 'Free Run Japan.' It's a series of street courses, once a week for the summer, where traceurs can share their passion as is should be: unbridled by rules and boundaries. Each week is in a different district, and unless you receive a direct invitation you have to be at one event to hear the location of the next."

As _interesting_ as the description was - he was pretty sure he could remember back when he was in Homra the week it was in Shizume was unexpectedly stressful for Kusanagi, not that anybody had been told what was going on - Fushimi urged him to stay focused.

"And she was participating?"

"Not that I'm aware of. She got into an argument with the DJ at the after party. It was a pretty big scene."

"Did you know the DJ?"

"Not really. See her at gigs sometimes doing stunts."

Fushimi hummed in acknowledgement. Then, without a word of gratitude, he concluded, "Well then, that's all."

Unfazed, Ryota offered, "Good luck."

The two others watched on, stunned by the lack of conventional formalities. As the fake reporter walked away they couldn't help calling after him.

"Wait! This girl, is she in trouble or something?"

"If you ever need anything, feel free to ask again."

Ryota spoke quietly to them from behind, "I get the feeling this is something we don't want to be involved in."

Confident that he could track down this stunt DJ, Fushimi intended to escape the strange event when the announcer called out through the PA, "Our next contestant is 20 year old rookie Fushimi, Saruhiko, a tech specialist from Tsubaki-mon."

Fushimi froze in place, eyes wide. He definitely had _not_ signed up for anything of the sort. Only one possibly existed, and that was that his king arranged his entrance. After all, only Munakata knew his identity, and it was just like him to overconfidently propose any clansman of his could breeze through such an obstacle course. Fushimi knew he had no choice.

With a disheartened sigh, he reported to the starting line.

The course before him seemed bigger than it had previously. The obstacles were father apart and the drops higher from his new perspective. Maybe it was the pressure of the crowd watching. He could hear Ryota's hippy friend and the older veteran cheering him on from the sidelines. Beside them Munakata was pompously applauding with an out-of-place golf clap and the pride of a pet owner showing their purebred at a dog show. He could already hear the mockery if he failed to perform. The shame of falling into the muddy water below would ostracize Scepter 4's pristine reputation.

His breath was already quickening, and he thought...he knew it had something to do with the water. Above all, he did not want to get wet. _The heavy jeans, the soggy shoes, the.._. A loud buzzer interrupted his runaway thoughts, and a large timer began counting. It was time to begin.

The first obstacle consisted of five steps on opposite ends of the artificial steam. It was vaguely reminiscent of actual ninjas forging rivers by jumping from stone to stone, except these 'stones' were exercise mats propped diagonally just far enough apart to require a leap of faith. Faith was one of the few skills Fushimi lacked.

He made it easily to the first platform, but he underestimated the slope and the distance. Barely reaching the second, he grabbed on with both arms and scrambled to get his feet beneath him. With the treadless sneakers, regaining purchase was a difficult feat. It didn't help any that a handful of commentators narrated his every move, reminding him how close he'd come to being disqualified without accomplishing a single leg of the race.

Launching himself at the third mat with all his energy, he reached the peak and sat on it to prevent slippage while he gathered himself for another leap. He really hated the Blue King. He imagined Hayashi wouldn't have near the trouble with these steps that he had, as it felt quite a bit like the one time he tried to chase her through the city. _Exhausting and embarrassing..._

From behind him the hippy called out encouraging advice, "You can do it! Think of them like springboards. The quicker you get off of one, the easier it is to reach the next!"

Fushimi's tongue flicked instinctively against his pallet. He was making himself look like a fool, accepting obvious advice such as that. Still, as he readied himself for the next jump, he kept the idea in mind. The mats were a bouncy substance, so the force of impact should potentially be countered equally by propelling him toward the final step. Theoretically.

In reality it was more awkward than that, and he barely reached the rope to swing to the safety of the landing. Solid ground greeted him like an oasis in the desert, refreshing if it weren't for the knowledge that he had to leave. Onto the "rolling log."

The second obstacle was exactly as its name suggested. A large, cylindrical mat - appropriately colored brown - was attached to a ramp with bearings that would accelerate you, spinning, towards a cushioned wall. Fushimi climbed on in utter disgust, and grasped the tube in a bear hug. The announcers mentioned something about his height giving him an advantage, but he couldn't hear them over the mental shouting, _Don't let go! Don't fall in the water!_

Cheek pasted to the log, the unwilling participant shifted his weight to commence the roll. At first it wasn't too horrible. With every rotation, however, the lopsided weight of his body distorted the spin, which in turn flung him harder. The effects of centripetal force jumbled his mind as his vision flashed from sky to water and back again. The same internal shouting, though muddled, was as loud as before, and he clung even tighter to the rolling log.

Finally the axle collided full force with the stop on the rails, and the impact jarred his whole body. The literal spinning had stopped, but his head was still swirling and he hesitated to let go still. His jaw hurt from being clenched during the abrupt finish, and he took a moment to wonder how anyone found this sport enjoyable. Only after the commentators teased him for not jumping off to continue did Fushimi crawl wobbly to his feet.

The third obstacle was also spinning, and he could hardly see it straight, much less walk to it.

On the sidelines the ninja warrior veteran called out to him, "Twirl the other direction for a moment."

The science was logical. Just like a twisted cord could be unwound, countering the centripetal force could eliminate the dizziness. He really hoped Munakata wasn't videoing his sorry attempt. That thought called to mind someone else who always taped everything. Frustrated with his wandering mind, he did the shameful twirl briefly and then gave his full attention to the "MUSIC BOX" before him.

Once his eyesight had cleared entirely, he was easily able to process the gist of the obstacle. It consisted of one of those artificial, rock climbing walls, except that it had been wrapped around a horizontal axle so that it rotated like a giant toilet paper roll. Above the cylinder, teeth ground against the hand holds as it turned, imitating the sounds of a music box while simultaneously preventing competitors from simply running across the top. It was necessary to climb across the moving object, ascending to the next landing.

This was more appropriate for Fushimi's tastes. It moved rather slowly, so that he could get a full idea of the proper path to follow. Having memorized the pattern, he climbed on and slowly picked his way to the other side. His arms were already more tired than he estimated, and after dangling from his fingertips to barely reach his toes to the mat, he needed to pause to shake them out.

A commentator said something, then, about how the time was ticking and he needed to keep moving. Fushimi tried to ignore their words, since it wasn't like he cared about scoring properly in the sadistic game. Unlike Mario, he didn't have extra lives to spare.

Below him was a three meter drop to a small trampoline with a red target. He didn't like trampolines. They were abrupt, and jarring; they gave him minor symptoms of whiplash. He just didn't have the stamina for that kind of activity.

Yata did like trampolines. That was actually how he knew he didn't. That entire family liked the high energy jumping around. All the noises and sensations from previous experience crowded his mind as he gazed down at the red circle he had to aim for. If he didn't do this right, the shock of impact would be absorbed by his legs instead of propelling him forward to the cargo net. That was the true obstacle: to navigate the bottom of the net ladder successfully to the other side. He had to master the trampoline before he could even begin that.

His eyes closed as he leaped down. He shouldn't have closed them, and he hadn't wanted to. It only occurred naturally as a result of falling through the air to be launched over a body of water, mental fingers crossed that he'd somehow be able to grab the rope. Hitting the stretchy surface stang in his knees, but the next thing he knew, he was flying uncontrollably back into the air. His whole body hit the web of ropes, splayed out like a gliding squirrel. Eyes shot open, and he scrambled to hold on for dear life. _So stupid for getting dragged into this..._

The rope had too much slack in it. That was what made it difficult to move. Also holding one's whole weight against the power of gravity quickly wore down the muscles. Moving almost horizontally, it was also impossible to see where one was going. Charting a path had to be done entirely by feel, stretching out a leg and groping about with it until a new foothold was found.

When his grip started to give out, he had to rely more on his lower body, hooking his knees over the net for better stability. While that proved to be a good plan short term, it ultimately resulted in his getting entangled beyond recovery.

On the sidelines the commentators acted like they'd ever had the guts to attempt their own course, mentioning everything they thought was a mistake and informing everyone how tired his arms appeared. Their incessant gabbing irritated him. As if he needed someone else to inform him that he was exhausted and stuck. He could feel the mounting frustration and the numbing fingertips without their help.

No matter how much he struggled, eventually his strength gave out, just as they predicted, and he plummeted head first toward the muddy water. It swallowed him up like a monster, a viscous, enveloping monster that pulled him further and further into its grips. He knew not to breathe, but an instant spike in his heart rate increased the need so that he felt like he was choking after only a couple seconds. The obscured view of dappled light and abstract ripples was too familiar.

His weakened arms tore through the water like a knight braving a jungle of century-old thorns. Waves displaced the water frantically, blurring the view of a hovering, Cheshire grin. _What's wrong? Can't_ monkeys _naturally swim?_

Fushimi's head broke through the surface of the artificial stream. He immediately gasped for air, then took to panting. Thankfully, his feet could reach the bottom, and relief washed over him with that realization. Head still whirling, he waded awkwardly to the pool's edge and exerted himself one last time to get out as quickly as possible.

The winter air assaulted him like a thousand ice daggers all piercing him at once while a commentator informed the crowd, "Not bad for a newbie." His legs felt heavy, weighed down by drenched jean and soggy sneakers. His fingers throbbed with rope burn, but his ego hurt much more than that. It was a wound he wouldn't get to nurse anytime soon, as he was quickly surrounded by an equally suffocating crowd.

The hippy doused him with praise, while the ninja from a former era nodded his approval of every word. "Hey, why didn't you tell us you were participating?...Nicely done!..." Fushimi ignored most of the flattery. Even said sincerely, it was too generic to have meaning.

A microphone was thrust in his face when an unnatural, golden blonde model came with three cameramen to interview him. "How does it feel after your first ninja warrior appearance?"

His glasses were streaked with water droplets which magnified the camera lights so that even in the middle of the day he couldn't see a thing. The vapor created by every, still hastened, breath didn't help any, and he clenched his jaw in an attempt to prevent chattering. Were they really going to air him on TV like this?

"I'm fine," he grumbled dismissively.

The reporter persisted. "What happened there at the cargo net?" She shoved the microphone back at him.

"No comment," he deflected with the expertise of an officer accustomed to handling classified information.

She attempted once more. "Do you think you'll be back again?"

The result was the same, and Fushimi sulked away from them, rubbing his arms furiously. Almost instinctively he joined his king's side, looking absolutely miserable with his deflated hair and drooping clothes. Apparently, while he was being interviewed, the next contestant had been called to the stage, and that person was the Green Mercenary.

Douhan had no difficulties reaching the same point where Fushimi had failed and surpassed him with ease. In less than five minutes, she had reached the final obstacle. Her hands clung to the edge of the fourteen foot wall and hefted her weight up to the finish line. Not only did she complete the course, however, she also did so with relative speed when compared to other contestants.

Still soaked to the bone and shivering, Fushimi complained to Munakata, "Great. Now you'll have to grant her more 'supervised parole' for round 2."

The captain didn't take the reminder with surprise or displeasure, instead humming a small chuckle. "Indeed, it seems I shall."

He spared his subordinate a glance briefly to observe his reaction, easily noticing how he was freezing. Unzipping his own jacket, he gracefully slipped out of it and laid it over Fushimi's shoulders. He himself could tolerate extreme temperatures better than the unhealthy, young man, even in only a paper-thin, white sweater that hung loosely from the deep, bateau neckline at his collarbone.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. There was no way he could claim his sanctum as king would keep him warm enough dressed like that. He wasn't an inferno like Mikoto. The gift was only pity anyhow, which irritated him even more. If he could just control the automatic, anatomical response to cold, the captain would never have seen his weakness to it.

As if it could convince anyone, he lied blatantly, "I'm not cold."

"I see," Munakata accepted the insistence, but he didn't take his jacket back. Addressing his soggy companion - who looked rather small draped in his captain's larger coat - he changed the subject seamlessly, "Depending on how the rest of the competition plays out, it appears you also may be expected in Round 2."

"Hah!?" Fushimi responded in horror. _Come back? Do it again?_ "I refuse."

"As the sole representative of the Fourth Annex, it would be distasteful to withdraw."

Fushimi mumbled an unintelligible reply under his breath and crossed his arms with a frown. _Why was he a part of this joke of a clan again?_ "I have work to do," he protested definitively.

"Ah yes, about that," the king added. "If at all possible, please make good use of our resources in your task."

Though he had already turned away, Fushimi glanced back to Munakata with a raised eyebrow. There was a sense of perception beyond what he had been informed in the captain's tone. Somewhat begrudgingly, Fushimi conceded, "Yes sir. I'll return to base to continue research."

* * *

 _ **Hope y'all got a laugh or two from that. Let us know what you think of the story to this point! See ya next time**_


	19. Still Not Safe

_**So sorry. This is all Arait's fault. Arait feels like she doesn't even deserve to delay your enjoyment by apologizing. Brief note: this is the morning after Sasuke. Fushimi probably went straight to bed after that exhausting ordeal. Thank you all for your patience and support.**_

* * *

Azami and Cricket had spent most of the day of the Green Girl's arrival catching up. It was rocky at first—bad memories of the past sneaking in a snarky remark here or there in addition to trying to keep information of other clans under wraps. Once the topic switched to stories of parkour, though, it became more enjoyable for both to contribute on common ground. After supper, Cricket left the house to go to work, and Azami went out to see if she could gather some useful information before it got too dark. Once the worst of the nightlife began to make their appearance, she returned to her temporary base to catch up on much-needed sleep.

Cricket didn't return until the next morning around 8 o'clock. Azami heard her come in, but continued to let her body get the rest it required until the smell of breakfast finally coaxed her out from under the covers. It wasn't the same type of meals they got at the Green Clan's headquarters, but Cricket was used to making meals for little kids now, so she had figured out how to sneak nutritious things into sweet-smelling foods. With her long hair pulled back and a towel tucked in her pocket, Cricket did look a bit like a young mother, and Azami smiled a little.

"Morning," she greeted. "How was work?"

Since she was finely dicing some vegetables, the older female barely spared her a glance and a shrug. "Work was work. And how was your night?"

Azami replied in like manner, "Not very productive. Tiring mostly."

Cricket turned the flame off on the stove and dried her hands on the towel before picking up a plate. "I bet. Keeping up with all those lies you've been telling must be exhausting. You probably worked up a big appetite."

Azami creased her brows right before Cricket winged the plate across the kitchen at her like a Frisbee. Azami barely caught it, the porcelain bouncing in her arms as she hurried to recover from her confusion and keep the plate from crashing to the floor. Cricket slammed her knife point-down in the cutting board and threw her towel on the counter. She advanced on the shorter girl as she sheepishly slid the plate onto the table.

"You conniving bitch! I told you I'd find out. Did you _really_ fucking think I wouldn't?" she growled with anger.

"W-Wha—?" Azami stammered into her darkened expression as Cricket backed her out of the kitchen.

"The whole VIP room was buzzing about you last night. 'Someone tried to kill you'? No fucking shit, Sherlock! That's what happens when you steal a haul from a mob boss!"

In lieu of that comment, the Green Girl's rattled mind quickly started fitting pieces together, and she held up her hands between them. "No, please, let me explain—"

"Oh, you can explain. You can explain your lying ass right out the door!"

Azami put the arm chair between them. "Cricket, I didn't—"

"And take _this_ with you!" Cricket shouted as she snatched the cloth bag of money off of the end table and hurled it at the shorter female. It connected with her temple and burst open, sending paper bills fluttering through the air and coins skittering across the floor. "I don't need your damn dirty money! Now get your shit and get out!"

Rather uncharacteristically, Azami's eyes welled up. She wanted to blame it on the effects of medications and her wounds, but she couldn't. Nor was it from the sting of the projectile that was thrown at her, but from the razor sharp jaws of her past coming back once more to bite her. Unexpectedly, her knees gave out from under her, and she dropped to the floor with tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I didn't…I didn't…" she rasped out between strangled sobs and then cried quietly for several moments while Cricket stared her down. She tried again after a hiccup. "I didn't take anything. I didn't…not even an ounce. I swear…I…"

Her voice cracked, and she choked back a couple more sobs. "Someone tried to kill me before that. They _did_. They beat the shit out of me and tried to dump my body in the forest."

She wiped her face on her sweatshirt sleeve, and the words continued to tumble out of her mouth.

"A guy I used to run drugs with was driving by, and he gave me a ride. _He_ crashed the car. _He_ lost the delivery. It was stupid…but I was _hurt,_ and I was trying to get home. I'm sorry. I just wanted to get home…"

Her voice trailed into a whisper before it fell to more body-wracking sobs, and Cricket felt the sincerity. She also felt horrible because, at that moment, she remembered that Azami was barely an adult who had never really had a childhood. The tomboy had lacked sufficient time for heartfelt talks with her mother, never had that woman who could sympathize with her emotions. Most of all, she didn't get the advice about growing up that her seasoned parents should have provided and, while Cricket wasn't going to excuse her actions, she could see why the teen would have thought it necessary to make those choices at the time. With that in mind, the older girl gathered her pride and left it on the end table as she approached the tomboy and wrapped her in a hug, stroking her punk hair.

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry. I just wanted the truth. …In my defense, you should have told me long before now." Oops. She threw that bit onto the table with the rest of her pride. "That was terrible of me. I shouldn't have made assumptions. …Good thing I wasn't trying to welcome my sister back, huh?"

Azami sniffed. "Maybe that would work."

Cricket scoffed self-deprecatingly. "You think?"

Azami hummed and let herself be cradled for a few precious moments. She was headstrong and independent—she had been for so long that sometimes she didn't realize how tired she'd get and how much she just needed _this_. But eventually she'd have to give it up again since Cricket herself had pointed out how these were dangerous times.

"Were they really talking about me?"

Cricket hummed an affirmative with a resigned sigh. "Yeah…but don't worry. This is a home for you and I'm gonna make sure you're safe here."

Azami wiped a tear and uttered a grateful "Thanks", but again she had to wonder how safe she'd actually stay and for how long.

Gently, Cricket redirected the conversation and her thoughts back to the beginning. "Before the wreck, who was trying to kill you?"

"I dunno for sure. It could have been anyone."

Cricket raised a brow as if to say, "Really? You don't have any clue at all?"

"I mean it. So you probably shouldn't talk to _anyone_ if they ask you about me."

While that wasn't entirely true, Azami didn't want to tell Cricket about the Green Clan and have the DJ go digging around in dangerous territory. After all, she didn't know who those Clansmen actually were since they were merely new recruits to her. But if they were willing to murder one of their own, what was one random civilian?

"I'm not gonna have any old boyfriends showing up here, am I?"

Azami realized the older woman was trying to determine how much danger she herself was in. A point of consideration was: who had ordered her destruction? Azami had trouble remembering all the details of the dream—flashback…? Flashback in a dream…? Either way she had been sleeping and she was kinda foggy on the particulars, but from what she could remember about the way the recruits were talking, they hadn't decided all on their own one day to just kill her off. They didn't seem the type so they must have been influenced, but by whom?

She couldn't guarantee that it wasn't one of her old "boyfriends" since there was no way she could recall them all, but that seemed unlikely. What reason would they have? Could it really have been someone close to her in her own clan? Or just a random yakuza member who felt jaded? Or a former Black Clansman out for revenge, but lacking powers to fight their way to her, they paid someone in a better position to finish her off? There were too many options to be totally sure.

Cricket was waiting for an answer so Azami gave the one she was mostly sure of. "I don't think so. Everyone thinks I'm dead, except…"

The DJ looked at her face during the hesitation and realized there was someone Azami had thought of. "Oh, or a current one…?"

Azami shook her head, but she couldn't totally fight down the smile that wanted to consume her face for some odd reason when she gave the half-mumbled reply, "…not my boyfriend…"

Cricket released her hold on the girl and leaned back against the base of the sofa with a smirk. "But you wish he was."

The Green Girl waved her hands quickly. "He's just a moron who looks out for me and causes trouble wherever he goes."

"Mm-hmm, that sounds familiar."

"Hey! I'm not _that_ big of a troublemaker!"

"So does this moron have a name?"

While Azami considered how much detail she wanted to spread around about that idiot skater, her mind went back to the original issue once again. It _could_ be anyone. Her being here was putting Cricket on the radar and the twins would be returning soon. Her presence needed to remain as brief as possible.

* * *

Three individuals passed through the business district with all seriousness in their expressions. Most people watched them go without making a scene (even if it was just from the corner of their eyes). Many recognized their affiliation and got out of the way while some just scowled at them as they passed, likely thinking those hooligans were up to no good. In reality, though, they were merely making the rounds.

Chitose strolled down the street with a cigarette lazily fixed between his lips, chatting idly with his partners. Usually he didn't go anywhere with anyone other than his best friend Dewa, Masaomi, but with the Green King cooking up trouble and rumors of violent crimes arising, Anna had asked that they go in groups to do patrols. Not only that, but since the death of Mikoto, many unsavory businessmen had taken to trying to cut deals in HOMRA territory, not fearing their new young King. They weren't about to stop, especially if they were ones unfamiliar with the world of Kings, clansmen, and strains.

"—That's where I think we should start," Dewa was saying to the two, but only one was listening. "What do you think, Yata-san?"

"Mm-hmm," came the mumble of a reply, a generic response to throw into conversations when one isn't paying attention.

Dewa and his friend shared a look and then stared at the skater as he trudged along dutifully but with a faraway look in his eyes. Chitose took a drag on his smoke and then tried again.

"So you _do_ think we should stop by the mall to pick up chicks first?"

"Yeah."

The two exchanged expressions another time and then Dewa joined in, "Hey, remember that time we went to the beach and the shark bit your leg?"

"Oh yeah," Chitose agreed. "Good thing that mermaid in the clam bra showed up to save me."

These did not elicit proper responses either. Dewa decided to try one more option in order to rouse the younger boy.

"So I said, 'What did you say about HOMRA?'"

Sure enough, the vanguard sprang to alertness once their reputation was under attack. "Who's talking shit about HOMRA?" he demanded with only slightly less anger than per the norm.

Chitose chuckled and slung an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders. "No one, man. Where'd you go?"

Yata's eyebrows creased. "Nowhere."

"Don't lie to me. We've been talking to you for blocks now and you haven't been paying attention at all. What's up?"

The skater opened his mouth to redirect their attention off of him, but there was no need as a shout further down the street did it for him. A feminine voice cried, "Get off of me! Help, please!" and there was a flash of black and green at the end of an alley before it appeared the victim was pulled back in. Adrenaline shooting into his veins, Yata dropped his skateboard to the concrete and took off, his companions close behind.

What they saw in the alley was not the Green parkour lover they had been missing, but instead, a younger girl—probably 15—in black and green workout clothes on the ground and backed against the side of one of the buildings. Hovering over her was a man who looked like his only pastime other than terrorizing teenage girls was training for body building competitions. He must have been on some crazy enhancers, too, because his skin was stone grey.

Yata froze at the sight of the girl's V-neck top so Chitose chimed in nonchalantly, "This doesn't look too good. What's going on here?"

"He's gonna kill me!" the female cried, pointing a shaky finger at the hulk in front of her.

He hummed and took a drag off his cigarette as he surveyed the situation, then assured her, "He's not gonna kill anybody."

Finally the burly man broke his silence with a scoff. "Who do you think you are?"

Once his eyes locked on the guy mocking them, Yata's sense of pride and thick-headed bravery was restored. He tugged down his collar to reveal his tell-tale mark and announced, "We're HOMRA and you've had the bad luck of stepping into our territory."

The man looked Yata from head to toe and sneered, "Am I supposed to be intimidated? By _you_?"

Yata smirked. "I'd say 'Yeah, if you know what's good for you', but you don't seem the type to be that smart."

The other frowned. "What would be smart is for you to mind your own business. But if you want to fight, then fine. I'll finish with her after I finish you."

"Like hell I'd lose to _you_ ," Yata growled, his aura glowing to life to match his tone.

The man squared his bulky form off with Yata's much smaller one. With a shout, the skater's power flared outward in a method of intimidation that scared the young girl, but left the man looking less than impressed. His stance didn't shift at all even when Yata stepped into a battle-ready position.

Per his usual strategy, HOMRA's vanguard charged his opponent while the other didn't even try to move. A solid punch landed square on the man's jaw, and he staggered a little after his head snapped to the side, but he didn't seem very fazed by the hit. Yata, though, was a bit surprised by how socking the man in his chiseled jaw could feel so much like boxing a steel girder. He took a couple steps backward out of confusion, shaking his hand out and examining his knuckles.

"Oh no, did I hurt you?" the man grinned.

Yata clenched his teeth. "Not like _this_ will hurt _you_!"

Stepping back onto his skateboard, he gave a strong push that sent him into the man's grasp. Though small, Yata was extremely agile and, at the last second, he stomped on the back of his board and jumped it straight into the guy's stomach. Right after, Yata landed a foot in his chest and spun to jab an elbow in the side of his head. It was like fighting a stone wall and, while Yata had tried earnestly to do some damage, as the man wheeled backward, he still had enough strength to grab the skater and hurl him into the side of the alley.

Yata met it with enough force that the brick behind him shattered and showered him with bits of mortar that invaded his lungs as he tried to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him.

"Yata!" his companions cried in surprise, but neither entered the fray, both knowing better than to interfere with one of his fights.

"You're right, that did sting a little," their opponent jeered as he sauntered closer to the stunned skater. "How did it feel for you, though? Your ego looks a little deflated."

Yata glared death up at him from under his beanie and suddenly his aura exploded out from him, ruffling his hair, scorching the bricks, and flooding the alley. His opponent took a few steps back out of surprise while Chitose and Dewa moved in front of the young girl to deflect the heat. Upon his ungraceful landing, Yata had disturbed some trash cans and a few pieces of broken pipe had scattered about the area. Most had been melted in his anger, but the furthest one remained intact. Out of obliviousness, he had forgotten his staff at the bar, so he decided that would be a suitable alternative. He dove for it and then kicked off the wall and launched toward his adversary.

Though his aura pulsed through his entire body, he was armed now with more than his own flesh and bone and could focus all of that power into one point. The pipe glowed red as Yata smashed it down onto the shoulder of the brawny man. Metal met impenetrable skin, which suddenly seemed less invincible against the intense heat and gave in under the force of the pipe, tearing muscle and cracking collar bone.

The man appeared just as surprised by this new development as Yata, but much less enthused. His eyes widened, and he retreated a few paces, holding his appendage. HOMRA's vanguard geared up for another onslaught, but as he charged forward, a scrawny blue-haired kid unexpectedly appeared at the hulk's side. He touched the larger man's shoulder, and there was a bright flash of light that momentarily blinded the Red Clansman and he stopped short. When he opened his eyes again, the two individuals were escaping at the end of the alley.

"How did they get down there so fast?" the skater wondered aloud, but it went unnoticed.

"Can you stand?" Chitose was asking the girl.

"Do we need to get you to an urgent care?" offered Dewa.

"I dunno," she answered. "He might have broken my ankle so I couldn't get away. He really was going to kill me. Thanks for coming to help."

"What did he want with you?" Dewa inquired.

"To join their movement. They wanted me for my super speed."

"A movement?" Chitose repeated.

She nodded. "They're recruiting strains without clans and clansmen who have been abandoned for…"

The girls' words faded into background noise as Yata's brain began to fill with worry. _They're recruiting clansmen who have been abandoned and killing those who refuse to join._ Most of the time Yata could cut through the unnecessary bullshit of everyday worries, but he couldn't ignore the voice in the back of his mind that said if that was these guys' angle, they'd have no problem trying to get to a Green Clansman who had just been betrayed by their own people. He also knew that Hayashi would have no problem turning them down.

The wheels in his hot-tempered mind started turning faster with each second. Anna had told them not to seek Hayashi out—that she didn't want to be found—but right now that didn't seem like a reasonable idea. In fact, it seemed like an order that he just couldn't obey anymore. While he trusted Anna's insight, he didn't trust Azami's decision.

* * *

Back at the annex, Fushimi assumed a quick web search would turn up a handful of prospective DJs. Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy as that. Entering "stunt DJ" into the search engine did not return a list in the yellow pages of jockeys for hire. Nor did it display a selection of video demonstrations. There was one music video by an American rapper DJ-DBerry for a song called "Stunt" that obviously never made it to the Billboard Chart. A widely published headline populated the majority of the rest of the results asking pointedly if some DJ's proposal to some popstar was just a stunt.

Finding that incredibly unhelpful, he revised his search terms to a suggestion offered at the bottom of the list, "best DJ shows." That at least got him into the right category, and the search engine responded with internationally renowned mix artists performing at famous raves in Las Vegas, Berlin, and Amsterdam. Informative descriptions referred back to a late 70s band that made liberal use of laser shows as their inspiration. As technology improved, newer performers upped their game with highly advanced coordination devices. DJing in the modern age was more about computers than ever before.

Now better informed, Fushimi refined the search to, "EDM show near Shizume." The precision of those keywords revealed some irrelevant garbage, but one result stood out. The site had the appearance of a professional business - if perhaps a little underhanded - with a dark but sharp template. A brief, vague description and valid, meaningless links made the website appear legit at first glance. Primarily, however, content was organized into forums, and the password for entry was an unreleased video game.

This, Fushimi knew, was a door, a gateway to the dark net. With a right click of the mouse, he brought up a menu and selected, "View Page Source Code." A text editor opened in a new window full of PHP and html+ that was effectively illegible to the ordinary person. He skimmed through it, reading the parameters for each of the games. Some of the hidden information pointed to terrorist cells, others were looking to hire shady individuals for illegal purposes. Fushimi ignored these until another time, instead focusing on the path "tokyo's+hottest+nightlife" which was hidden under a war game.

Returning to the browser, Fushimi opened that game despite being at work. The captain had given him permission to make full use of their resources to do whatever it took to follow this lead...more or less. Less. Well the two were related, to a degree. Either way, none of the underclansmen questioned their third-in-command at a work station in casual clothes. The sounds of machine guns and grenades were a curiosity, but no one intended to be the cat that died of it.

Fushimi had been playing for about an hour, exploring a post-apocalyptic Dubai and gathering life sustaining supplies when another online player opened a chat. Their approach was discrete, welcoming him to the game and asking if he would like to join the more advanced player for tandem play. If Fushimi refused he knew he would be allowed to continue playing undisturbed - insofar as the game had been developed - but that wasn't why he had come. The invitation was a test to see if he could open the gateway. The other player was an admin of the hidden forum who had been notified to vet his entrance for the first time (coming back again would be much simpler), and Fushimi was surprisingly relieved that the username was Chrome and not Kanra.

Before Fushimi could really reply, he was interrupted by the loud thump of boxes dropping onto his desk. Seeing the unmistakable uniform of Lieutenant Awashima from the corner of his eye, the young man immediately sat up straight and minimized the offending cutscene. His superior looked quite agitated for reasons serious enough that she hardly gave a condemnatory glance at the screen.

Sighing, she wicked a strand of hair behind her ear and spoke without wasting time on a greeting. "For now, standard leisure time is being denied. Everyone is working 'round the clock."

"I am working," Fushimi countered, even though his current apparel and activity seemed to indicate otherwise.

Awashima's eyebrows raised incredulously. "On what, exactly?"

The reply he made was the same he had given to Munakata on the set of Sasuke: "I'm investigating a potential victim of the rebellion."

She cut him off. "Unfortunately, there's no longer time for potentialities. We _have_ another victim. Akiyama and Benzai are leading the team investigating the scene. I need you to do the debrief of the strain to admit her into our protective custody."

"Admit her?" Fushimi repeated. "Are we starting an orphanage?"

"Until we resolve the conflict we really have no other choice. You are the only one who has prior experience with the admission process."

"I just made some stupid questionnaire," the officer mumbled, mostly dismayed by the ping of another notification coming to the chat on his computer. Hopefully Chrome wouldn't give up on him.

Seeing that he was distracted and not at all pleased, Awashima showed a bit of mercy. "You know what, I'll have someone else do it. Just print out another copy of the documents you used with Dokite."

Fushimi complied without protest. After accepting several pages from the nearby printer, the lieutenant turned to leave the room. Frowning, her subordinate stopped her.

"What all this?" He asked sharply, indicating the two boxes she had left on his workspace.

Awashima's expression deadened at once, and the overwhelmed look that had disfigured her face upon arrival returned. "Those are the personal affairs of two enabled persons that need to be catalogued before being sent as forensic evidence to the Research Department."

"And you're leaving them here because...?"

"Fushimi," the lady in command snapped at his reluctant attitude. Then she answered, "Because I trust that _you_ will handle it professionally."

The young man clicked his tongue as she marched off, leaving no room for further complaints. Quickly, he switched back to the game idling on his computer to send a message.

[Something came up. Ready to party in 15]

Several seconds passed, and then a reply came from Chrome.

[np]

Fushimi opened the lid off the top box. Black and green. His breath hitched. It wasn't an outfit he had ever seen Hayashi wear, but the colors were unmistakable. He pulled the clothing items out first: a low-cut exercise tank, and some kind of sports pants.

A note fell to his desk out of the folded pants. It was written on the official Scepter 4 stationary, so Fushimi figured it was probably important to read.

 _To whomever may succeed me in managing this task:_

 _The accompanying boxes contain vital evidence to our current case. I myself had chosen to take responsibility for enumerating and describing in great detail the items found therein. It is essential for a leader to occasionally partake in the responsibilities of their subordinates in order to remain IN TOUCH with their DAILY GRIND._

Fushimi could tell he had been reading more articles in business magazines and scoffed while opening a can of coffee.

 _Doing so when all my officers are already occupied seemed like it could only be the politest timing. While I was in the mess hall looking for tools to help me complete the cataloguing, however, Lieutenant Awashima interfered, insisting that I pass this job onto someone else. Therefore, in complying with my right hand's recommendation, I leave this to you. Enclosed you will find my notes to this point, which you may find helpful in completing your own report._

 _Sincerely your captain,_

 _Munakata, Reisi_

What exactly could be found in a kitchen/cafeteria that could be used for categorizing clothing? Fushimi figured he probably didn't want to know and turned the paper over. Stapled to the back of it were three additional sheets covered in (front and back) detailed notes. Fushimi could feel his face slamming into the desk a thousand times as he read through it, even though he did not do so in reality.

 _Everything_ was described. From the nature and use of the item to its color, texture, and various materials, nothing was left out of Munakata's report. Where Fushimi would have written, "Athletic pants, color: green and black, condition: undamaged," the captain had formed a full paragraph in complete sentences.

Fushimi didn't read it thoroughly, but he sufficiently saw how precise Munakata had been. _Cotton/spandex...color blocking pattern along the sides in key lime and dark Kelly green... Size small... Generally used in sports requiring much flexibility such as yoga or pilates... Overall fair condition; although, they have clearly seen much use as there is wearing and fraying along the waist and bottom hem... Strong odor of red..._

He was beginning to understand why Awashima had removed this assignment from the captain. He could picture clearly that man beaming with great pride at his desk, investigating every angle of each item, even going so far as to research. It really was too much.

What did 'red' even smell like? Taking a whiff of the yoga pants, he recoiled self-derisively. Of course, 'red' was a very distinct odor of smoke, heat, blood, passion, and Homra.

Black and green, Homra, a new victim of the strain rebellion. Fushimi couldn't prevent his heart from quickening as his mind autonomously put bits of the story together. As soon as she left the bar, she was already attacked? Couldn't that idiot keep better watch of her? He almost regretted having refused the task of debriefing her. At least he'd see she was safe.

Shoving his scattered thoughts aside as nothing more than a distraction to his focus, Fushimi quickly breezed through the cataloguing. The athletic top was equally described by Munakata, down to the zipper opening halfway down the front and the discrete cell phone pocket in back. Whereas most of the captain's notes were excessively unnecessary, one stood out as strange enough to mention. There were unusual, orangish brown stains all across the fabric.

It didn't appear to be blood; the color wasn't quite right for that. Rather, the traces seemed more like some residue - residue from the hands of someone who had grasped the shirt in fistfuls. Figuring out the source of the substance wasn't Fushimi's responsibility. That job was for the Research Department, where he was to send the evidence after cataloguing it. Going beyond the necessary would delay his return to the user Chrome who awaited him.

On the other hand, if Hayashi was currently in Scepter 4 custody, he wouldn't need to continue searching for contacts in forums on the dark net.

He promptly filtered through the rest of the evidence in the first box. Her shoes were of a similar color scheme and specialized for runners. Evidently, Munakata had also written an extensive description of their specific usage as well as details of the wear on the tread - the victim apparently had some unequal gait which resulted in wearing down the inside marginally faster than the outside; extremely marginally, but Munakata noted it nonetheless - and even speculation on the origin of certain debris.

Fushimi sighed as he set them aside and entered into the database, "Running shoes, silver and green. Undamaged."

A handful of pictures had been taken on scene of scorch marks and devastatingly broken walls. Filing them was entirely standard, and Fushimi completed the rest of the first box mindlessly. Restocking the box exactly as it had been brought to him, he reached for the second. Upon removing the lid, he was at once relieved and filled with a repressed rage.

 _This was Hayashi's clothes._ He could tell immediately that the wardrobe belonged to her. Since Munakata clearly referred to them as Enabled Person A and Enabled Person B, it was reasonable to assume they were two separate individuals. Even though the captain seemingly had not begun his research on the second individual when he was stopped by Awashima, his thorough analysis would have suspected they were the same person. Two athletic girls, clad in green, were attacked in consecutive weeks. The strange coincidence coming so quickly after the clan had abandoned Douhan into their hands, he couldn't help the thought, _Is JUNGLE purging all their women?_

He laughed derisively at his own conclusion, and for some reason a face in pigtails came back to him from the past and how JUNGLE had one time been her entire life. "How stupid," he muttered under his breath.

Grabbing the pants, he fingered the giant tear on one hip that was coated with dry blood. It was what she had been wearing the day of the crash, the day of the betrayal. This box had been the one given to them by the hospital. That meant she was still missing, out there somewhere in danger. His hands clenched around the thick fabric in indignation. That meant there were deep secrets and intimate apparel in the box.

Apparel that Munakata had likely held up with a sparkling intrigue and an, "Oya, panties."

Thank goodness the captain hadn't been given the chance to get that far or to write out the description, _90% Tactel nylon/ 10% spandex...Scattered, tinselating threads weave in each direction._ He would have been completely unabashed by his own impudence. Even with no real connection to Hayashi, he somehow couldn't stand the thought of Munakata invading her privacy so shamelessly.

Realizing just how tightly he had grasped the pants, Fushimi forced his hands to relax. As he moved to set them down, his fingers brushed lightly against a sloppily patched seam in a pocket near the knee. That tear had been his doing. His own knife had sliced clear through. Of course, it had been her fault for stealing his contaminated phone and running off with it. Even though he had hated it at that moment, the chase had almost become something akin to a fond memory.

It was dangerous to be so careless. Clicking his tongue, he proceeded, calloused, to catalogue the rest of Hayashi's belongings. Her shoes were described the same as Enabled Person A. The socks were coated in mud from tromping through the forest in the rain and stained with the blood that had streamed down her leg. Her hoodie was in similar condition, torn by flying shards of shattered glass.

So reckless. She was so reckless, and alone, and in danger. _Only one more page of the captain's notes_ , he reminded himself, and then he would turn his attention back to the more productive search for a DJ who once fought with Hayashi like a slighted friend. He flipped the stationary to the final sheet while reaching for his drink.

When Fushimi realized what his captain had been doing in the cafeteria, he choked on a mouthful of coffee, nearly spitting it across the table in shock. On the last page of notes Munakata had written a sliding scale of bra sizes, starting with Yoshino as the smallest and ending with Awashima as the largest. The two enabled persons whose belongings had been entered as evidence both fell along the smaller side of the scale. That data itself was disturbing enough, but Munakata additionally misunderstood the meaning of "cup size."

Where Yoshino was ranked as the axis of the graph was labeled as "one cup matcha or less." Enabled Person B (Hayashi) was as of yet an unknown measurement slightly smaller than the unknown of Enabled Person A. Awashima's exact quantity of tea holding capacity was also unmarked, making it very clear to Fushimi just why she had appeared so frazzled.

It was easy to imagine the captain affronting her, impertinently asking, "Ah, Awashima-kun what timing. For research purposes, how many cups of tea would it take to fill your bosom?"

He guessed she had probably refrained - with great difficulty - from punching the man she admired square in the jaw, and proceeded to dump the responsibility rather on the only person she thought would handle undergarments professionally.

Somehow Fushimi was disappointed in being thought of that way, yet he well knew no other member of the Special Duty Corps would be able to hold a bra and keep a straight face. Unlike the whispers and giggles they would have spread through the whole Annex, Fushimi treated the article exactly as any other. He appropriately read the size from the tag and entered that along with its general "greenish-grey" color and "mostly undamaged" condition. Finished at last, he put everything back into the boxes just as he had found them and replaced the lid, successfully convincing himself that he wasn't blushing. The reason his face felt hot was the shame he felt for his colleagues. That was all.

Then, at last, back to the game that would secure him entrance to the dark net forum he sought. Maximizing the flash window from the task bar, he double clicked in the textbox and typed briefly:

[m back]

A response from Chrome came within a minute.

[follow me]

Fushimi did as commanded, his generically buff, American soldier avatar falling into step with the sinewy Chrome and his carnal demeanor. The admin led him to a building not unlike the others. Though littered with debris and mortar pox, the cement-like exterior had not been breached. Additionally the door and windows were in tact, which was rather suspicious. _Bullet proof glass? What was this building?_

Fushimi began to hesitate. Tactically, caution was required. Chrome just blazed on ahead, though, unfazed by whatever possibility they might encounter. He brazenly kicked down the front door, and an alarm instantly began to sound.

[oops, tripped the alarm] Chrome messaged with no remorse.

[security will be here within a minute. i'll hold them off while u open the vault]

Glancing across the room, on the other side of a long counter, Fushimi spotted the vault in question with a keypad to enter a five digit access code. He understood, then, his mission. The vault was the door. Breaking the code was proof that he belonged among them. It appeared he would have unlimited attempts, as long as he finished before security killed them, so time was the limiter.

He cracked his knuckles, took another swig of coffee, and set about breaking the code. There were 100,000 possible solutions. He obviously didn't have enough time to simply start with 00000 and try all the options. The method, rather, was to choose one combination at random - perhaps something common like 12345, or 24680. If this game was like most, it would reveal to him how many digits were correct and how many of those were in the right location. Then he could progress accordingly, adjusting the numbers one at a time until all were correct.

It was a game he had mastered and grown out of years ago.

A minute later, Fushimi had tried a few combinations and was certain of two digits when the foretold security arrived. He froze momentarily, expecting to be informed of his loss. That wasn't the case, however, and when the enemy began shooting at the them, he quickly ducked behind the counter. Chrome was kneeling close by on full alert, but he still spared Fushimi a glance to wave him back towards the vault. He was reminded of what Chrome had said when they first arrived; he would hold them off so that Fushimi had time to work.

Chrome eased his head and pistol just above the counter to keep the incoming soldiers at bay. That was his real time limit: if Chrome ran out of ammo, or they got shot dead. Staying crouched down, he returned to the keypad to continue his task. Before long, he had deciphered the middle three digits and knew what the first and last could _not_ be.

A recognizable click followed by a murmured curse drew Fushimi's attention away from his most recent attempt. Chrome had reached the end of his last clip. That was the sign that his time was almost up. He looked at the possible access code he had entered most recently. All the numbers were correct; three were in the right position. He quickly swapped the first and last digit, even as the security officers drew nearer.

The vault beeped and then swung open. When Fushimi moved his avatar towards the opening, the graphics froze, scattered, and fizzled. Left on the screen was a black webpage with a single forum. The most recent post was an automatically generated notification.

[User_ has been invited to join the forum Tokyo's Hottest Nightlife]

Fushimi quickly skimmed through the majority of content which was useless rubbish such as:

[The best time to go to a club is Monday night when it's quiet and all the waitresses are at my disposal ;D]

Many of the remaining discussions were unrelated, describing activities like unsanctioned street races. Finally, he scrolled to the part of the site about dancing. There were some specialized facilities mentioned, and underground locations where dance crews regularly sparred for the pleasure of onlookers. Club Vignette was mentioned in passing as a decent place for amateur dancers to enjoy their hobby with no pressure. He slowed down to thoroughly read the next few posts.

[the first Friday of every month, EDGE has **epic** performances from world-famous emcees] RnB4evr

[I saw DJ Spinz there when he came to town. The acoustics are off the charts] F0t0grafics

[how do u no whos playing? i cant find the schedule nywhere] JpopNjava

[there isn't one. not public anyway. u gotta go there to know what's coming next] RnB4evr

[lame] JpopNjava

[Not really. Even if it's not who you're expecting, EDGE has great shows. Their standard DJ when no one else is scheduled is a great underground EDM performer who you will probably never see anywhere else. Her live mix is catchy and rarely the same twice. But even if you don't feel like dancing, it's worth checking out. She can't sit still herself, and is usually doing some crazy tricks to pump the crowd up. Especially on weekends her set is more like unfathomable gymnastics with an insane light show.] Anonymous

[The DJ's a chick?] Chrome

That was Chrome's only message on the board, and it seemed to be there only to get a rise out of people instead of being a legitimate question. Beyond that point was unnecessary for Fushimi to read in any case. He had found his contact. The club EDGE was exclusively underground but not entirely invisible, and the off-duty, blue clansman had soon pulled up the address in a map on his PDA.

Fushimi knew that his diversion into the subterranean realm of fictional Dubai would earn him no excuse with Awashima for slacking on his work duties. Before he could leave base to check out the club EDGE, he had to deliver the boxes of evidence to the research team in the Intelligence Division. That, presumably, would be an in-and-out matter, and he'd be on his way. There were still a couple hours before he could into the night world anyhow.

* * *

 _ **Hopefully, the length partially made up for something. Also, a little funny moment from when we were reviewing the chapter...**_

 _ **Kateracks: Why is it so difficult to get to this website?**_

 _ **Arait: Because this is what it's really like! It's how you get to the black market online!**_

 _ **Kateracks: Okay-Wait! How do you know this?**_

 _ **Arait: Mwahahahaha :」**_


	20. An Uncovered Trail

**_*Approaches with tail between legs, like an ancient Israelite whose beard was shaved, a midieval archer without a middle finger...* There really is no way to make up for this horrible delay. Arait is fully responsible and will accept any punishment necessary._**

For Enomoto, being Awashima's second choice along with his roommate Fuse was not demeaning in the least. He often reflected on his place in the Special Duty Corps and how he fit as one of Munakata's cherished pieces. For example, when their coworkers or superiors spoke of the two men merely alphabetically, they said, "Enomoto and Fuse," but if it was a question of assertiveness, decision making, or something similar, they said, "Fuse and Enomoto." He knew his greatest strength on the force was in handling computers; though, he did his best with sword skills as well.

Even his use in technical matters was inferior to that of the person he admiringly nicknamed "Second Glasses" (Fushimi, for his part, was entirely unaware of the pet name and would continue to be indefinitely, along with the rest of the force). Being subordinate to such a natural talent was not something to be ashamed of in the least; although, that didn't stop him from dreaming about holding the spotlight for his own heroism. He certainly wasn't bitter toward Fushimi the way Fuse was, quietly simmering over his own complaints without sharing what they were about.

In fact, the brunet seemed to be smoldering currently, put off by receiving Fushimi's task only because he had refused it first. In contrast, Enomoto was rather excited to interview this strain. After all, the whole idea of granting endangered psychokinetics asylum was something brand new for their organization. Even if Fushimi had made the questionnaire and vetted their first refugee Kory Dokite, it was practically uncharted territory.

When he had mentioned his opinion to Fuse earlier, that person had replied frankly, "Will it really be any different from taking them into custody?"

Enomoto didn't know if it would be different or not. That was what made it exciting.

Scepter 4 already had a file on this particular strain. Her school had discovered her super speed ability and tried to exploit it for their sports teams. Other schools, of course, complained so that it became a matter where the district school board contacted the parents and imposed registering with the Legal Affairs Bureau. Once she was removed from sports, all of the excess energy associated with the "Speed Force" led to delinquent behavior.

The blues had pretty much lost sight of her since the initial incident, seeing as the troubles she caused were pretty much as minor as her age. Fifteen should have been too young to be causing a severe threat to national security.

About her type of strain - common class - Munakata had been known to concede, "It is sometimes said, 'There are bigger fish to fry,'" while sending an awkward wink to Kamo as if that were a cooking metaphor only the two of them could appreciate.

Having reached the basement level where the prison area was located, they opened the door to the enabled refugee's temporary holding cell. Within, a young girl in a royal blue jumpsuit bounced up and down with an invisible jump rope. Clearly, being cooped up without access to her powers was as deprivatory for her as it had been for Kory. The excess energy she was accustomed to still coursed through her veins with no outlet.

As the door opened in its puzzle-like fashion, she froze momentarily. Her eyes took on a certain wild quality, and she made a dash for the exit. Used to this as common among those in their custody, Fuse easily spread out to block her path. In turn, Enomoto's gentle voice soothed her.

"Now, now," he explained, "you're only in here temporarily. We had to prepare a place for you to stay. Now it's time to process your information and update your profile. Could you just answer a few questions for us?"

Fuse handed the paperwork along with a pen to the strain, who contained her hyperactivity enough to sit and fill it out. For several minutes the only sounds in the dark cell were of ink etching paper and the strain's rapid foot tapping. She finished the liability waiver, having speed read the message and quickly initialed all the blanks. The second page was to update her file.

It started off totally normal, and the girl scribbled down her name, date of birth, height, gender, etc. with no complaints. Even race, hair color, eye color, and emergency contacts didn't make her bat an eye. Asking for her relationship status and blood type was starting to push the limits of privacy.

She glanced incredulously at the oblivious officers. They looked totally innocent.

Nervous under her gaze, Enomoto sputtered, "W-what is it?"

"This sounds like an online dating profile." Enomoto looked shocked and Fuse offended, so she specified the two which had perplexed her.

Thankfully, Fuse was quicker on his feet than his partner and easily made up an explanation similar to Fushimi's bluff, "It's in case of emergency."

Even though the strain still thought it suspicious, the answer sufficed for the time being. She continued filling out the form. Under "Occupation:" she wrote, "delivery of purchased goods." As for "Prior Affiliations," she left it blank, and the two swordsmen knew enough of her history to know it was true.

The next page began by asking for the history of criminal activity she had formerly been arrested for. Beneath that was a blank where the current charges for which she was being detained were to be listed. Fuse snatched the paper away before she could complain, gritting his teeth.

"This is for us to fill out."

"Really?" She replied. "It says I'm being charged with something."

"Well you see..." Stumped, Fuse faded off.

It was Enomoto's turn to clarify. "We really aren't accustomed to housing people who aren't under arrest, so we've kinda been using old forms."

His embarrassed expression didn't inspire much confidence, so the girl briefly skimmed the rest of the document.

Have you committed any felonies in the last six months?

Have you sold/given away any government secrets?

Have you visited any website containing illegal content, or downloaded/uploaded any files protected by copyright laws?

Have you ever impersonated the opposite sex online?

Some of the questions seemed generic enough but others not so much.

Subconsciously biting off a hangnail, the girl inquired, "Are you sure this is just an 'old form' you show to everyone?"

Enomoto looked over her shoulder at the page and, upon seeing the questions for the first time, promptly turned beet red. He toppled backward into Fuse while desperately trying to save their clan's reputation.

"It's, it's... Y-you see, it's vital information. So we can better serve you."

After standing his partner upright, Fuse added a more believable bluff. "We have no intentions of granting asylum to any enabled person who could potentially be deemed a threat, or call into question the security off our other protectorates."

Thoroughly impressed by that answer, Enomoto couldn't resist dramatically pushing his glasses closer to his face while declaring, "For our cause is just."

It was obvious who he was impersonating, but Fuse still scolded, "That was too much."

The girl nodded her vigorous agreement. It had broken the ice, though. Before long, all three of them had laughed about the whole situation. Finally, Fuse admitted what had happened.

"The truth is, accepting psychokinetics who are seeking refuge is extremely rare for us. We don't actually have forms for it because it has only happened once before. The person who handled it on that occasion wrote this up and called it just 'some stupid questionnaire.' I figured that meant generic, not...this." He waved the papers in the air.

"No one ever leaves Scepter 4 saying they had 'an ordinary experience.' You can bet I'll be spreading this one around when I get out," the strain teased.

Bowing politely, Enomoto excused, "We'll do our best to make your stay as short as possible. Hope you don't mind our only available space is in the practice dojo. You'll have to share with our other refugee."

"And who's that?"

"Dokite, Kory."

"EHHHHHHH?!"

The Scepter 4 lab was treated in a typical fashion. Located in the basement, adjacent to the prison area, it was a place regular members never went. Most of them had only even heard of it in fables. Along with the mystery of where the captain slept, were rumors of the experiments done in the lab. They particularly seemed to fabricate horror stories, like old black and white movies of mad scientists.

In reality, the research lab mostly tested new equipment under develothepment by the Gold Clan for the better management of psychokinetics and provided feedback for potential modifications. It was a somewhat sadistic much at times but thoroughly overt. Their activities had been published in clan newsletter once, which the scientists involved hoped would remove misconceptions. Of course, Gouto proceeded to print the article in his Halloween edition, further adding to the suspicions.

Rarely did any blue clansman come down into the lab, so Hotaru and her colleagues worked relatively uninterrupted for the most part. It might even be said that they had more regular dealings with the Usagi who delivered new technologies to them than with their own clan. The recent strain uprising changed that. Not only had the Gold Clan been mysteriously fading away, but the "mad scientists" of the Research Department were suddenly being called on to act as CSI lab techs, processing the evidence gathered at crime scenes as if they had ever specialized in that.

In spite of their new popularity, Hotaru was particularly startled to receive a visit from the captain himself. She had been investigating the source of strange residue left on the shirt of a strain when his presence entered before him. As usual, he announced his coming with awkwardly out-of-place small talk.

"Hotaru-kun, how has your vision been?"

She looked up from her beakers of reactants and pushed her safety glasses closer to her eyes with her shoulder because her hands were occupied cutting up samples of the shirt with medical scissors. "Again, Captain, I have no problems with my vision."

"What a magnificent turn of events," he complimented, unswayed in the belief he had made up for himself.

Rather than continue fighting him, Hotaru erased the astonished stare from her face and welcomed mechanically, "How can I be of assistance?"

Munakata wasted no time getting down to business. "Have you seen Fushimi-kun lately?"

Surprised by such a question that was completely unrelated to her, the scientist scoffed. "What, have you lost him?"

"To the contrary," Munakata disagreed, all the while abusing his position as king and captain to snoop around her workspace with impeccable pose and posture. "It is not difficult to deduce where he has gone, since he has made no effort to conceal his trail."

"Then what are you asking for?" The question was mumbled as she reached to prevent the captain from mishandling a particularly volatile chemical. When their hands contacted, she felt an icy spark that briefly reminded her she was refusing a king. Holding the substance with her gloves, she looked at the floor, humbled and sheepish.

"By all appearances he has abandoned his job."

"So?" She attempted to regain her freeness of speech while also cursing herself for replying in such a disrespectful way. It may have come out sounding calloused, but it wasn't like she cared about what happened to that arrogant brat.

"I personally have been tracking his recent efforts, since I found his alibies suspicious at best, but truthfully with the situation as grave as it is currently, I cannot be expending my time - nor that of the Special Duty Corps - surveying a rogue agent. I want you to follow him and report to me what has stolen his attention away."

"Huh?" Hotaru responded in bewilderment. "Why me?"

"I trust you can keep him 'straight and skinny.'"

"WHAT?!?!?!"

"It is an expression, Christian I believe, meaning you will not let him go astray," Munakata clarified, not embarrassed by his unintended implications in the least. At that, he discretely laid a slip of paper on the counter. "This is the location he is headed to. I trust you will fulfill your mission as a loyal member of Scepter 4."

Though her mind was racing with protests, his kingly authority imposed compliance. Clicking her heels together, she stood straight and agreed, "Yes Sir, for our cause is pure."

He smiled in satisfaction and left to continue with his other responsibilities. Hotaru was left with all her questions unanswered. It didn't appear to her that he had abandoned his job at all, since only a couple hours before he had delivered to her the evidence she had been examining just then. He hadn't been in his uniform, supposedly because he had been on his way to the address provided to her by Munakata. When she had inquired about it, though, he had answered, as grumpy as ever, that he was forced to work on his day off.

There had been no reason to cast doubt on his words, since the contents of the boxes he had brought her were flawlessly catalogued in the system and thoroughly related to the current rebellion. He had been rude and disrespectful, but it's not like that was anything extraordinary. She also could not deny the captain's insight, however. If he was concerned, it was definitely something worth investigating. As soon as she cleaned up, she would head out.

Four o'clock, in a rather shabby side of town. No one was off work yet. Some kids lingered around after school, but the ones hanging out in that neighborhood weren't the kind you'd risk making eye contact with. They were delinquents, looking to make a name. Any adults present on the street at that hour were even less savory.

This was the part of town where the club EDGE could be found. Nothing stood out among the concrete buildings as a hot destination for party goers. That was its strongest appeal. The lack of advertising and promotion gave it that feel of the streets, where knowledge of what is cool came from word-of-mouth. Someone could be socially exiled by being left out of "the loop." In parts of town like that, they had their own networking, some kind of living internet, and Fushimi stood at the edge ready to hack into it.

The concrete building possessing the address which belonged to EDGE had two metal doors. The one on the street, which appeared to be the main entrance, was locked, reasonable for the time of day. Fushimi considered lingering until opening time, but he really didn't want to have to bother with other customers or the security that would interfere with him reaching this DJ.

As he openly circled the building, without any care for how the bystanders might view him, he was fortunate enough to find a second entrance below ground. He descended the half-flight of stairs to the door that said "Employees Only." It was unlocked.

Fushimi made his way through the dark, basement corridor. The first room which the "Employees Only" door had led to was obviously for storage, being stacked full of various boxes. Across from it was something like a break room with plastic chairs and a run-down microwave. Since the doors were open, Fushimi found himself snooping through everything he passed in the hallway. He wasn't particularly interested; it was just always useful to be fully aware of one's surroundings, more so in a setting he was unfamiliar with such as this.

There appeared to be rooms set aside for especially important clients. One was arranged in imitation of traditional okiya, of only low- to mid-range quality, with tatami, tables low to the floor, and a stage for maiko to dance. The nature of their "performance" was questionable, but it really was none of Fushimi's concern. The second VIP lounge seemed to be for gambling and pool. It was easy to imagine who spent the most time in these rooms: old blood yakuza, and the - more dangerous - Hollywood copycats respectively.

He honestly felt like he had stepped into a movie, with the setting so extraordinary, yet the reality of it weighed heavy on his shoulders. When he sulked back into the hallway, he was nearly plowed over by what could only be described as a vocaloid. Stepping back, he realigned his glasses hoping the confusion had been caused by their askew displacement in the near collision.

That didn't alter the view of a green haired girl with the figure of a twelve year old and a puny dress the same color as her hair. Though his toes had nearly been crushed by her clunky go-go boots, she was the one who complained in a high pitched voice.

"Out of the way! Huge load coming through, and I can't stop!"

Quick reaction time and heightened senses spared Fushimi's feet from the barreling girl and the dolly trailing after her which carried an amp bigger than her. The momentum of such heavy equipment chased the colorful girl up a couple of the stairs to the main level before the dolly came to a crashing stop. Super relieved, the girl let out an anime-like sigh and then looked back to the boy she nearly flattened.

"Hey, do you think you could help me get this to the stage?" When she spoke, he pigtails bounced like a girl he used to know.

Fushimi really hoped this wasn't the person he was looking for. She had the equipment, though. Aside from the massive, black boxes she also carried a laptop and had quite an expensive pair of iridescent headphones draped around her neck. Glancing behind him in hopes that she had requested the help of someone else, Fushimi saw no one. Concluding there was no other way to get up to the main floor, he stepped forward to grab the bottom edge of the dolly.

It was much heavier than he expected, feeling like it would rip his arms out of their sockets, which brought a bitter insult to his lips, "Shouldn't you be DJing at a middle school instead of a place like this, or something?"

Also struggling to pull her half of the weight up the stairs, the girl stopped to wipe her brow, dropping the whole load into Fushimi's over-extended arms. He winced as she replied cheerfully, "Oh no, this isn't my scene at all. My big brother is just letting me tag along to 'show me the ropes' so to speak. I'm going to be a popstar!"

Under the full weight, his grumbled response was muffled, "No wonder you look twelve..."

Her demeanor changed instantly, as dramatic as the cartoon character she resembled, and she launched herself furiously at him over the amp. "What did you say?! Youth is valued in my line of work, you know!"

While he crumpled under the added burden, she rambled on, throwing a tantrum and pulling his hair like a toddler. Fushimi did his best to tip her off of him and reworded his previous comment. "I said, 'Is your brother the DJ tonight?'" If so, there really was no need to stick around.

It was as if nothing had ever happened. Her appearance was unruffled and cuter than adorable by common opinion. "Ah, yes. He has the first set. It's a great opportunity to play in a club such as this, our names with the likes of Spinz and Cricket." She nodded to herself as if suddenly coming to a life changing conclusion. "This really will be good for our career."

Fully ignoring her exposition, Fushimi pushed the equipment completely up the remainder of the half-flight of stairs with an unattractive grunt. According to plan, the club floor was not yet bustling with customers. There were only a couple people on the stage.

Both of them were male. The first had hair to his shoulders, squashed down by a beanie with a graffiti logo on it (probably his own title) who appeared to be setting up a projector while bobbing his head to the bass that was thumping mutely around them. Miss Real-Life-Vocaloid bounded over to that one, dragging the dolly behind her as if it was weightless. The other was a short guy roughly the size of Yata who was on the stage standing atop two precariously stacked metal crates and reaching skyward.

Fushimi ignored them both with a click of his tongue and muttered to himself, "So she's not here tonight..."

He was about to leave, dismayed, when a bulky man affronted him with a deep voice, "Oi, Kid. What are you doing here?"

Fushimi turned toward the bouncer, mind racing. In a normal situation, he would simply display the Scepter 4 logo on his PDA to gain access into any establishment. Having deliberately come in jeans and converse so as not to draw the strains' attention to his search for Hayashi, he couldn't immediately turn to his position in law enforcement for help. Instead, he decided to rely on vague answers.

"I came to see the DJ who does parkour." He felt ill-prepared knowing neither her given nor her stage name.

The answer he expected was something like, "She doesn't perform tonight," but the bouncer answered differently.

"Club's not open yet."

"Not the show. I need to see her... personally," Fushimi expounded.

"If it's personal, do it on your own time. Kids like you shouldn't be hanging around places like this anyhow." The man tried to usher him toward the front door.

Stubborn as a mule, Fushimi didn't budge, instead muttering his complaint. "Why do you think I came before business hours..."

Conveniently, a loud crash and the exclamation, "Dammit!" saved the undercover blue from forced ejection. Everyone's attention was drawn to the DJ who had toppled his makeshift tower of crates. That preoccupied the burly man long enough that he could watch the exchange that followed.

One more person appeared on the scene from a side room where a great mass of cords disappeared into darkness. A female well into her twenties gave the younger girl a look of questioning. When she received an affirmative thumbs-up from the vocaloid, she turned to the male destroying the stage.

"What are you doing over there?"

"Do you know where the ladder is?" the short guy asked, giving a crate a frustrated kick.

"No..." the female replied, a hint of amusement in her voice. "What's up?"

The guy pointed upward once more. "That light is blinking and it's not supposed to be. I think it's got a loose connection, but I can't reach with this stupid setup."

"Alright, hang on, I got it," she offered as she climbed the stairs to the stage.

Once there, she took a few quick steps toward the wall behind the mixing table and kicked off to grab the catwalk where the lights were suspended. She hooked her legs into the metal workings so she could have her hands free.

"You're a damn showoff, Cricket!" The DJ called up to her in awe and disgruntled jealousy.

"That's why I get paid more than you," she jabbed with a smirk and then requested, "Do me a favor and shut this down, will you?" She could then set about tightening bulbs and testing wire connections. There was no doubting Fushimi had seen Hayashi do that exact move before; this DJ had to know about the Green Girl. This "Cricket" was the one he had been looking for.

Breaking away from the troublesome bouncer, Fushimi made his way to the stage, intending to just come straight out and ask. Of course, his plan was deraild by the living vocaloid who flounced over to him as he approached.

"Hey! Do you think you could sit me at the best table to watch my aniki from?" She made he request with a wink that literally exuded kawaii.

Disgusted, Fushimi grumbled, "Do you think I work here or something?"

"You don't?" Her initial - and sincere - surprise was quickly overrun by the anime reaction she tried so hard to portray. Pointing an accusatory finger at the imposter, she shouted in horror, "And I trusted you!" As if it suddenly made a difference, she realized from up on the stage her mini skirt was even shorter and grabbed at her clothes. "You didn't look, did you? Pervert! Stay away from me!"

Fushimi closed his eyes slowly like that might make her disappear, when the shaggy haired man strode over to be her knight in shining armor.

"You bothering my sister?" He questioned, acting tough.

"I don't give a damn about your sister. I came to talk to her." Fushimi pointed across the way to the DJ who had just performed the parkour stunt.

The siblings were stumbled by his blunt lack of interest in them. While his sister blubbered over a harsh rejection she had wanted and deserved, the man called to the other side of the stage, "Cricket, you've got a fan over here!"

Being called a fan was not entirely true, but the lady seemed pleased upon hearing it. Somewhat frantic, Fushimi searched for something fan-like he could potentially say to her when she came over. He didn't want to sound stupid like he didn't know anything on the subject. So how about parkour and synthesized music... wasn't an informed comment in the least.

A poster he had noticed earlier but not cared about flashed back to mind. Two off-kilter triangles like the volume buttons on a stereo sat in the background with a silhouette of turntables in the forefront. The poster said, "Tribute to Avicii with DJ Cricket." That was something he could work with, now that he knew the traceur's stage name. After all, he had heard recent pop news when the Special Duty Corps had been listening to the radio in one of the Scepter 4 vans after a mission.

"So you support Tim Bergling in his decision to retire from touring?"

"It can't be helped; he's gotta take care of his health, right?"

"A lot of people are upset about it, saying he wasn't suited to be famous in the first place. Pretty cheeky of you to pick sides."

Brushing the matter aside, unconcerned, the tall woman replied, "Jealous people always need something to hate. People will come for the show. You did."

Fushimi stuffed his hands in his pockets and contradicted, "Actually, I came to talk to you about someone we both know more personally."

That transition left a slightly ominous air between them, which made Cricket feel like this was a person he should avoid. Fortunately for her, the amateurs were hooking something up wrong that caused the mind-crushing screech of a feedback loop. Taking that as an escape, she excused herself.

"Look, I'm busy with setup right now. Stay for the show?"

He didn't intend to give up that easy, even though he had certainly planned to be done and gone before any music started. While he stood at the edge of the stage pondering how best to proceed, the bouncer caught up to him once again.

"Alright Kid, you had your chance to talk to her. Time to go."

"I think I'll stay," he decided. When the large man insisted, Fushimi pulled out his leather trifold. "What's the cover charge here? ¥1000? ¥2000? I'll double it if you just leave me alone."

Watching as he counted out the bills in his wallet, the bouncer stipulated curtly, "ID first."

"How much for you to not ask?"

"I already did." He refused to budge.

Expecting he would now have to choose between waiting outside the club to stalk Cricket home or exposing his status as a law enforcement officer, Fushimi begrudgingly withdrew his ID and handed it to the man. He looked it over briefly and then burst out in hearty laughter.

"Your birthday was two weeks ago, Kid. Don't think I ever met anyone who forgot they were legal age. ¥5000, and I won't bother you."

Fushimi shoveled out the cash, pretending like he definitely knew he had already turned 20. It hadn't slipped his mind at all that he could drink and enter drinking establishments freely. At least, no one he knew had been around to observe the humiliation.

The man pointed Fushimi to a table in the corner, and the latter slumped into it for a long wait. He was beginning to think he should keep a ledger of everything he spent on Hayashi so she could pay him back once he found her.

 ** _Hope you all are still there and enjoyed this._**


	21. An Unproductive Discussion

_**Yay, the next part! Hope you like it.**_

* * *

The music grated on his ears. It seemed to have no sense, just a stunted repetition of electronic sounds. The lights flashed epileptically in tandem with the silhouettes of the crowd dancing en masse, intoxicated on a cocktail of - at least - heightened bpm and spirits. His head throbbed.

At least where he sat was a reasonable distance from the riot, and he stayed there on the high stool, staring down at the arched patterns on the chrome table. Colors from the spotlights sped across the surface, blending together in a dizzying blur. The waitress in charge of his side of the club kept pestering him to order something other than water without ice, but he had no intentions to enjoy himself in this place. Cricket would be performing later, and he was only there to wait for her.

The waitress came over again, and without permission set a frosted glass before him, filled with blue and green swirled like a Popsicle. When he glared at her obstinately, the girl gestured over her shoulder.

"Hey, don't look at me. They bought it for you." Fushimi followed her wave, unable to determine which of the multiple people in that vicinity wanted to torture him with indirect social transactions. She clarified, "The investors are upset that you're smothering the mood. It makes customers upset. Dance, or drink, or at least smile."

His unchanged expression sent her away rolling her eyes. "It's no use with you."

Sitting there alone with nothing to do but stare at the drink, he eventually took a sip. It was too cold, amplifying the stabbing pain in his head. He shoved it away again. It was too sweet and too cold, and it had a bitter aftertaste.

By the time Fushimi so much as saw Cricket again he had already drunk the whole glass out of boredom. Once the ice started to melt, whatever strong liquor was inside the concoction mildly helped his headache, and while he wasn't particularly a fan of the taste, all that excess sugar masked the bite pretty well. He nursed the cocktail like a hamster, and even so Cricket had just barely reemerged from the same back room she had been in prior to any show beginning.

Sliding off his stool, Fushimi swayed slightly. _Sitting in place for too damn long,_ he complained to himself and grabbed his sweater from the table. Cricket had settled herself down in a booth with her laptop to confirm one final time that her playlist was in the order she wanted. Fushimi slipped onto the padded bench across from her, catching her attention with his presence.

The same, eerie vibe to accompany the young man for their first encounter raised the DJ's walls a second time. She could pretty much guess what - or who - he had come to inquire about. He didn't waste a moment.

"I came to ask you about Hayashi, Azami." He mumbled, something more like Hay'shi 'Zami, while still speaking with an unplaceable menace.

Cricket responded as rehearsed, almost quickly enough to cut off the tail end of the question, "You're asking the wrong person. I don't know who that is."

"Funny," he replied without a trace of amusement. Acknowledging that she must have anticipated the subject matter, Fushimi exposed her lie, "Some traceurs we both know said otherwise."

"Hayashi and I haven't been friends for a long time," Cricket corrected, paying close attention to only use her surname.

"So you _were_ friends, then? Do you have any idea where she might have gone? Another friend, or some place she regularly went to ride things out?"

Fushimi noticed the smallest adjustment to her facial expression at his continued prying. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she set her jaw before answering, "What part of 'for a long time' did you not understand? Any of that information I would have had is long outdated."

"Outdated information will be fine."

"Okay fine. She regularly went home and spent time with her family when things got rough. How's that work for ya?"

Fushimi knew from the ninja warriors at Sasuke that this DJ was in contact with Azami recently enough to render that statement invalid. This whole word game just wasn't his forté. Awashima was good at it; she could talk circles around someone until they were persuaded. Not him. He didn't like people; he got antsy.

It was so obvious that this Cricket person was purposefully withholding information, which was becoming more and more frustrating by the second. Without knowing, he began to fidget with one of the knives in his sleeve. If she were an enemy, he'd have already taken care of things.

He tried to maintain an indifferent demeanor, pointing out, "We both know the 'family' was out of the picture before you ceased contact."

"If you know so much, what are you wasting my time for?"

While the spiraling conversation had put him at his wit's end, a familiar face seated at a booth across the dancefloor drew his mouth into an immediate snarl. Almost on instinct, the blade he had been fingering in his sweater was whipped into hand. The man with slick hair and an oversized gold chain was flirting with a large busted woman in one of those shirt dresses. Even though he had tried to cover his recent injuries, they were still visible. Fushimi had a picture of him saved on his phone.

"He's here?" Fushimi hissed under his breath.

Cricket had no trouble following his obvious gaze toward the cause of the drawn weapon. She too recognized the battered, Asian-American face as belonging to a runner for a particular drug ring. Her expression sank notably when the possibility crossed her mind that this Fushimi belonged to the same group. The thought was almost comical, though. A scrawny, nerd like him wouldn't make their ranks, not dressed like a spoiled, rich kid.

She snickered, regaining herself Fushimi's attention. He knew the distraction had not worked in his favor and attempted to make up for it with vague intimidation. Rolling the blade across his knuckles, he flipped it adeptly into the air, catching it with his thumb and index finger.

With his left hand he rapped twice on the chrome table to indicate his impatience and stated, "You have one more chance to be helpful. Otherwise, I'll get the information I need some other way?"

Having seen much worse, she asked blandly, "Are you threatening _me_?"

He didn't answer. If he had, he would have said, "Maybe," in a mildly singsong voice. No more; no less. The smirk tugging one side of his mouth upward menacingly said exactly that from the far side of a sleek dagger that teasingly reflected the bouncing spotlights. If she thought he'd use the knife on her, then that's what he meant. If she was unmoved, he'd confront the driver who nearly sent Hayashi over a cliff.

Neither did Cricket further their interaction verbally; though, she made her opinion of his new tactic well known. Looking past Fushimi, she made eye contact with security near the bar and nodded for him to come.

For his part, Fushimi recognized his bluff had been called by an able opponent. When the guard responded to Cricket's gesture, the dagger was lithely returned to the sleeve from which it came. The surest way not to gather any information would be to get kicked out of the club.

Despite his show of backing down, Cricket did not call off the club employee. As he strode toward their table, she seemed to spend the time scrutinizing thoughtfully the person before her. Fushimi wished he could deduce her thoughts. Normally he was rather skilled in seeing behind a poker face, but that night he could not. Maybe it was the loud music and flashing lights that clouded his focus, or the DJ was particularly experienced in concealing her emotions. Whatever it was, he didn't know.

The arrived man cast a towering shadow over the table, and Fushimi recognized him as the same bouncer he had dealt with before the program began. With an intimidating stature and booming voice, he inquired over the music, "Is there a problem here?"

Even though the question was directed to Cricket, she diverted it to Fushimi to gauge his response, "Ask him."

The burly man shifted his gaze demandingly, so Fushimi used the opportunity to excuse, "No problem; just a misunderstanding."

The bouncer looked to Cricket, clearly not prepared to take anything the kid who bribed him said at face value. "Need me to take care of this Cricket?"

Fushimi also set his expressionless eyes on her, the former smirk having sunk into a shape more piercingly bland. Part of him doubted that he had given the correct response, but he also thought there was a chance this inner city DJ would trust his sincerity. For her part, the girl folded her arms and leaned back in the booth, crossing her legs under the table as well, effectively closing herself off as she studied this guy from a different angle.

"I haven't decided yet." She had learned to read a lot of people over the years - excited fans, guys who pretended to be fans to try to get in her pants, druggies flying higher than kites, ruthless Yakuza in the VIP room, the tainted innocence of kids like the twins, and the hollow eyes of those like her sister and Azami who no longer had a reason to live yet still existed.

But this guy - he was a strange one. He was none of those and, in fact, if it hadn't been for the knife, she probably would have chalked the menacing feeling about him to simply being an awkward nerd. Maybe he was, and the display with the blade was a desperate reaction to not getting what he wanted. So the question was then: why was he even looking for Azami?

"I think we're good for now. Thanks, Jiro," she told the bouncer.

Making a gesture that it had been no big deal to assist a friend, he returned to his post, but not without first casting a suspicious glare at the boy who was seated. Fushimi's muscles relaxed upon his departure; although, the initial tightening had gone unnoticed. He couldn't help but wonder, though, why she would refuse to answer all his questions and then allow him to stay.

She continued skeptically, "What do you want so badly with a former addict anyway? Want her to start running for you too?"

 _Addict._ The word so harsh, so uncharacteristic of the Hayashi he knew, jolted Fushimi's mind like a blast from her green aura. All the misfitting pieces flashed to mind, forming a picture that he had attempted to deny. That's why she had been afraid to admit who the driver was. The driver, that man across the club, must have been a former contact, a former _coworker_ of sorts in the drug trade. If she had accepted help from him, perhaps she would turn to other acquaintances from that life and slip into anonymity on the underbelly of town.

That house came to mind next, like a childhood nightmare. Not the hollow mansion he had lived in all those years, but a darker looking one with a haunting blaze. He had seen it only twice: one torturous night from the back seat of a car that had been left running when he was five, and again on the night he had moved into the loft with Misaki. They were sitting on the metro with their final box of possessions

(Fushimi had supplied a gaming console and its controllers, then headed to the Yata family home. Misaki's mom was frantic by Fushimi's standards - although, for her it was probably only slightly above average - desperate to make sure her son and his friend had everything they would need to survive alone. She threw a pot into the box and the Christmas photo of their family plus one, then a hat that she made Misaki promise to wear every day in the winter.

Misaki had replied at last, "Alright Mom, I promise I'll wear it." She still insisted he add "every day" to the oath.

Soon the box was overflowing in Fushimi's arms. After one last kiss for each member of his family - and a firm handshake from the stepdad - the two boys were off with an exuberant, "See ya soon!" and a muffled, "Yeah, something like that..."

Fushimi had immediately shoved the box into Misaki's chest, explaining through the protests that most of the crap in it turned out to be his anyhow).

At a train stop that meant no more or less than any other, Misaki's attention had been captivated by a herd of police cars outside the windows. A loud thump on the roof resounded through the whole car like someone from a superhero movie had briefly landed there and ran along the top. Fushimi had his eyes glued to his PDA, purposefully trying to avoid looking at the massive fire burning up the street. Even so, Misaki's insistence obliged a quick glance as the metro pulled forward staggeringly. That house - the one his father had driven to - was behind Misaki's face, and down the street from the towering inferno.

 _But those two nights, what did they have to do with Hayashi? How were the memories triggered by the word addict?_ With a map of the city in his mind, he calculated the district, the neighborhood, down to the street address of that house. His face paled instantly, like someone who had just seen a ghost.

Without realizing it, a thought poured from his lips in a barely audible voice, "So that part wasn't a dream..."

Amidst crazy working hours and dramatic events of the last few days, awake and asleep had started to blend. Hayashi running drugs to a place _that man_ used to frequent had seemed more like it belonged to a nightmare than to the police report he had found in her file.

Now there was confirmation; it was true.

Catching sight of his sickly color change, Cricket leaned forward to get a better look at the face of horror, her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity. A second later, the daze was gone like it had never happened.

Fushimi knew he needed to stay in the moment and observe properly, so he shoved personal thoughts to the back of his mind. Leaning forward as well, he tested his deduction, "You know what i figure?"

Cricket silently beckoned him to continue by tilting her head.

"You're still in contact with Hayashi; you're trying to protect her. She probably told you exactly what happened, except even Hayashi doesn't know how much trouble she's in."

"That's an interesting theory," the woman replied and pressed herself against the table to close the gap between their faces, none the least bit intimidated by the close proximity to the knife bearing boy. "But that doesn't answer my question. And with the way you're making eyes at that pathetic mule over there-" she nodded her head in the direction the other man sat "-it doesn't exactly help gain my trust. Wanna try again?"

Fushimi updated his mental register with the mentioned occupation of the man across the club, but the more intimate details forced their way to the forefront. He attempted to remain analytical, controlling his train of thought.

Before joining JUNGLE, Hayashi had used and sold drugs. After being betrayed and abandoned by JUNGLE, she had gotten into the car of someone in the same "line of work," evidently a fact that was known to her based on her disinclination to reveal who had been the driver. Was she sinking back to a former lifestyle? It felt totally out of character for the Hayashi he knew. Then again, he didn't actually know her long enough to say with certainty that she hadn't always been that way.

Despite the doubts racing internally, he replied hollowly to the DJ, "I'm not trying to make a purchase."

"No your trying to make a sale."

That suggestion sounded so absurd to the off-duty officer that his tongue had flicked against his pallet before he even realized, "Tch, where'd you get that idea?"

"You're being pretty evasive in telling me your actual involvement."

 _His involvement?_ Of all the inquiries he had prearranged answers to, Fushimi hadn't even considered having to explain how he was connected to Hayashi. He wasn't even sure himself who she was to him, or why he was bothering to chase her all across the city. It was one of those rare occasions when he could only answer with a totally bewildered, "Haaaah?"

Only an instant passed before his denial kicked in again. Obviously, he was troubling himself with this wild goose chase because she was a suspected potential victim of a criminal organization of enabled persons whom he, as the third-in-command of a law enforcement agency whose express purpose was to handle situations involving super-powered individuals, was assigned to disarm.

Therefore, he answered the DJ's prying question with a vague and starched, "I told you; she's in trouble." Even so, he couldn't hide the light shade of strawberry that filled his pale cheeks as he looked away over the dance floor.

For the first time since they'd started their altercation, Cricket showed expression, and it turned out to be confoundment over this boy who had threatened her with a knife a moment ago who was now blushing at the thought of the parkour artist she was hiding. It was hard to see in the crazy lighting of the club but it was definitely there amidst the psychedelic flashes. Both her eyebrows raised, and her lips parted in dumbfounded confusion, but the corner of her mouth quirked upward just the slightest bit in one side. She looked as though she might comment had it but been for the sudden overhead announcement.

The current DJ had paused his music to proclaim he had only one more set before the uniquely talented Cricket took the stage for her long awaited tribute to Avicii. She stood as a cheer roared through the club for her coming performance, signaling her conversation with Fushimi had come to its end.

While the man continued to express his gratitude to a variety of persons, a second thought caused Cricket to briefly turn back to the disappointed boy in the booth. She felt just a little bit bad for him and decided to end on a more positive note. "Don't worry about that one. If she's the same girl... If she wants to be found, she'll come to you."

Fushimi watched the DJ disappear into the crowd with a mind full of doubts and no idea of where to look next. Dismayed, he sat at the booth a while longer, the music numbingly fading into the background. As far as a place to hide, the city's underbelly wasn't a terrible choice. Modern surveillances had not yet pierced the tight knit network of otherworldly hierarchy. It was ruled by unspoken laws and respect earned through fear. No one taught someone to find their way on the streets, but you learned quickly, or else.

At least that's what Fushimi had heard. He had tasted bits of that world chasing down strains, running errands that Kusanagi only dared trust him with, or enforcing Homra's own disestablishmental iron thumb. Never, though, had he been a part of it. So Hayashi had?

He felt as though, somehow, knowing that should completely revolutionize his formed opinion of the green girl, yet it didn't. His mouth and stomach indicated a sensation akin to disgust at the lifestyle she had once chosen to adopt. On the other hand, he had really always known. In this story full of happiness, no one really joined their enabled ranks without a horrific backstory. No one else scoured the world for more meaning.

The way she matched Misaki so well, it should have been obvious that she was hiding terrible scars. So this was her demon? If she had run so far that her demon had caught her, he would become a monster. He might not know the streets, but he knew a thing or two about being a monster.

By the time he had reached that conclusion, Cricket's show had begun. He figured he might as well see what she could do and found himself rapidly mesmerized by the performance.

True to all the reviews of the club that he had read on the clandestine forum, Cricket got the crowd pumped up from the get-go by accessing the stage in an nontraditional leap from the front and then flipping over the equipment to arrive at her starting position. The hype was brought to the max with her frenzied remix of Avicii's "Wake Me Up" to which she, herself, was bobbing and dancing around her table, reaching the knobs and levers from all directions.

The music still gave him a headache, and he didn't suspect he'd take it up as a new hobby anytime soon. He definitely had to admit, though, that there was some unique talent in Cricket's implementation. Not only were her dance moves complicated and completed skillfully, her use of the stage lights was more than haphazard, projecting a magnified silhouette of her dance onto different walls. Fushimi doubted any of the inebriated patrons could see or cared to watch her fancy footwork, but it kept him glued to his prime viewing spot for the entire song and the beginning of the next.

He might have watched longer, but it was then that the Asian-American drug runner stood up with his girl for the night and helped her into her coat. She was hanging from his every word, as well as his arm to keep herself steady on the five inch stilettos; whereas, he acted cool as ice. Whether that man turned out to be a lead or not, Fushimi wasn't going to let the person who left Hayashi on the edge of a cliff get off easy.

He felt a tinge of vertigo upon standing, but it quickly passed. Maintaining a safe distance, he followed the temporary couple through the exit. They walked down the street, and Fushimi lingered momentarily at the storefront to feign calling a taxi. In a few seconds, he would be far enough behind them that they would never hear his steps. As he paused, he glanced back at the crowd of people waiting in line to get into the club and condemned their definition of entertainment.

Sure, Cricket's show wasn't so bad, but she'd be done before most of them even got in. They would spend their whole night standing in a line, in December, wearing nothing more than bejeweled lingere. Finally, they'd get let in, get totally plastered, and be brainwashed by strobe lights and repetitive sounds. The next morning they'd wake up with a headache and someone they don't even know.

One person in the line stood out like a streak of red as bold as her hair. She was fully clothed, for one, in an outfit that was not at all intended to flaunt her body. She also had an anxious aura around her like she feared someone from headquarters might discover her secret pleasure. It wasn't like she'd lose her job for listening to bad music or having no dancing skill, unless of course she went there for the drugs.

Fushimi's head snapped around like a whip at the abrupt reminder of his mission, and he tromped after his next person of interest. The man only walked as far as the nearest subway station. Being as the night was still somewhat young, Fushimi had no trouble concealing himself in the bustle of other passengers. He slipped into the train car directly behind theirs, staying close to the door for an easy exit when they decided to disembark.

As the train jolted to a start, he was surprised that his balance mildly failed him, but the minor stumble was nothing compared to the way the drunk, female companion of his target fell all over the man. They rode for several, uneventful miles, and a few stops down the couple got off the train. The stalker deliberately waited until just before the doors closed to mirror the move.

When his foot hit the cement, Fushimi abruptly had a chill go down his spine that made him scrutinize his surroundings with greater detail. None of the commuters in the immediate vicinity appeared suspicious, and he didn't recognize any of them. There were a variety of reasons his instincts could have been piqued other than being watched. Maybe a random person had simply ventured too close to his personal space, or he was just paranoid due to his own current activity.

Deciding to be cautious and no more, he weaved through the crowd in pursuit of the couple. They didn't venture far from the station; although, they were headed in a direction few others chose. The majority of respectable passengers to descend at that stop warily transferred trains or swiftly made their way back to the relative safety of their run down homes. Those who were at ease in such a neighborhood knew who were their own and kept away from the others unless they were looking for a fight.

Fushimi was well aware of the paradoxes required to survive there. Move quickly, but don't rush. Take your time, but don't linger. Look them in the eye, but don't hold their gaze. Add to that last one, when you look away, don't cower or flinch. For a person raised in that world, such regulations came as easily as second nature. On the other hand, the young man - whose jeans clung tight to his legs rather than sagging off his hips - had to conscientiously observe them.

The drug runner in front of him exchanged casual greetings with various other scum they passed, some of whom congratulated him on the easy catch dangling from his arm. She was so plastered that she didn't mind their degrading comments, simply staggering along with her heels in her hands. Fushimi flicked his tongue in disgust from half a block back when the man stopped to chat up a few of his unsavory buddies.

It was fully dark by then, and the city had never bothered to replace burnt out bulbs on the street lights. No one would notice he was following them just strolling along, but with them at a standstill, he couldn't exactly loiter at a distance, waiting, either. Retreating a few steps, he ducked behind the building he had just rounded. He recalled the people in that vicinity wouldn't pay a bit of attention to his return.

As he eyed his targets from around the corner, a blur of motion caught his peripheral vision along with that same bristling feeling that had sparked his attention back at the station. He quickly rexamined his surroundings. At the far end of the street, where they had never passed by, a group of homeless people moved in and out of an abandoned warehouse, gathering around small fires in metal trash cans to warm themselves in the winter air. An old, sickly looking man had passed out with the bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag still clenched in his fist. No one appeared to be watching him.

A scraggly, stray cat scrambled out of an alley across the street, chased out by a crashing sound. Fushimi strained his eyes to see into the darkness but found only a pile of rubble the cat itself had probably knocked over. Satisfied with his analysis, he turned back to the man who had nearly driven Hayashi over a cliff.

It was several more moments before the man was finished showing his temporary lover to his pals. Then the two continued their path. Convinced he hadn't been seen, Fushimi moved to follow again, but his foot caught on an unexpected obstruction. Looking down with a silent expletive, he spotted the cat from before, come to beg him for food by rubbing against his legs affectionately.

It meowed gently in an otherwise soundless environment, and Fushimi nudged it with his shoe. "Get outta here," he muttered under his breath. It returned fearlessly and pawed at his knee. Lifting the underweight creature with his foot, he flung it away so he could go on with his stalking, already feeling an itch in his sinuses.

The man's friends gave Fushimi no trouble when he walked by, eyes glued to the browser on his PDA. Unfortunately, he was quite disappointed to arrive, a few buildings down the road, at a slummy motel. He had hoped to discover the contact's personal address. Then again, if his intentions were to only see the girl this one time, it would be reasonable not to show her where he lived.

Unlike some people he used to know, Fushimi had enough common sense not to confront the man inside a hotel lobby. Learning against the concrete, exterior wall, he discretely tried to determine the angle of all applicable security cameras in preparation of his next move.

* * *

 _ **Until next time!**_


	22. Midnight Excursion

**_Woo-hoo, psycho Fushimi in this one!_**

Hotaru climbed off the pile of junk she had tripped over. It seemed to be collected from dumpsters into the shopping cart her leg crashed against and stored in the alley she had landed on. Rubbing her sore knee, she limped back onto the main street. For someone who was supposedly making "no effort to conceal his trail," Fushimi was awfully difficult to follow. He used numerous fakes, pretending to go one way, then changing his direction in the last minute without even visibly looking that way or by paying particular attention to something that had nothing to do with his target at all.

Figuring out who he was following had eliminated a significant amount of confusion. Still, the superior officer had almost seen her three times already, not to mention when she had almost rode away on the subway train he failed to exit with reasonable haste. Somehow she had managed to keep up with him, even though she had no idea why he was trailing a drunk couple to such an unsafe part of town.

There weren't even sidewalks. It was definitely not a secure place for pedestrians, not with the crumbling asphalt creating uneven cracks. The moon was full, but with the narrow avenues lined with dilapidated highrises, its light rarely reached her view. She picked her way around the litter, cautious with every step to not contract tetanus, or worse.

Of course, her mind was undesirably over aware of all the surrounding hazards and, further, how ill equipped she was to handle the situation if any one of them were to flare up. She found her steps quickening as she drew near a group of people loitering against an unused delivery ramp. Four men, two women; with her gender outnumbered, she couldn't help feeling like she'd certainly be accosted.

Nothing happened. They stayed in their circle, staring judgingly at the outsider. She hurried by, trying her best not to look back at them, constantly stealing glances because she feared they would follow her. They didn't.

A moment later, she was startled to see the very man she had been assigned to follow, leaning conspicuously against the exterior wall of some cheap hotel. Per expected, his gaze was fixed on his phone, which she was simultaneously disgusted and relieved to see. Having escaped his sight once again, she backed away slowly, holding a finger before her face as if to shush herself. Ducking behind the plastic sign featuring their nightly rates and a neon dragon, she crept along to the back of the building to watch the snooty, superior officer in safety.

The motel's network was easy to crack. Their guest WiFi password was standard as could be. Using that access point, Fushimi acquired the IP address for their LAN. Just like that, he had full permissions on his phone just like an admin would have on the company's own PC.

His first order of business was to take a peek at the security cameras. He didn't expect to find anything remarkable. He just needed to see which room the drug runner had rented. Knowing his name would have made matters much simpler, but even as it was, he'd find the number in no time.

Once more he thought he heard footsteps nearby. Glancing up, he scanned the parking lot just in time to see a shadow slinking away. So he really had been followed all this time? Then it was time to turn the tables. He abandoned his post; the algorithms would continue their work in the background.

Moving in the opposite direction of his tail, Fushimi looped around behind the motel. His face sank in disbelief when he saw the bureau's lab tech craning her neck to see around a dumpster.

"What are you doing here?" He asked blandly.

Apparently his words took her by surprise, because she leaped into the air as she turned to face him.

Her response was a stuttered mix between horror at getting caught and grateful that it was only a fellow blue clansman to sneak up on her. "F-Fushimi-san." But her relief faded quickly and gave her the chance to turn the conversation on him, "That's my question, creeping around places like this."

"I'm working," the young man deadpanned.

"Working? At a night club?" Hotaru retorted clearly indicating she wouldn't be so easily deceived.

"In any case, it was more legitimate than whatever reason you had for being there."

"You don't know that!" She insisted.

Fushimi got a notification from his phone that drew his attention away from the scientist, and his glancing at it increased her dislike of him. The search he had run had found a segment of recent security footage containing the face of the man he was following. The clip even showed him leading his female companion into their rented room several floors up. All he needed to do then was find a way to break in. He'd think of something on the way.

Hotaru's know-it-all voice interrupted his thought process, though, stating, "Besides, it's not like listening to Avicii is immoral or anything."

The tech looked back to the girl, who continued following him, with a exasperated sigh. "If you just happened to coincidentally be there for an unadvertized event, why did you follow me?"

She had to ponder a moment to come up with an excuse for that one, leaving a burst of silence that Fushimi acknowledged peripherally while muttering about the contents of his pockets. After he retrieved a set of earphones, he let one of his throwing knives slide into his hand. Then, Hotaru managed an answer.

"There's a rumor spreading around that you've abandoned your duty," she didn't bother to mention it was the captain himself who gave her the information. It seemed like a decent approach because there is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact, "you know, like the same thing that happened with the red clan. So when I saw you out and about on this side of town, I thought maybe I could figure out what's going on."

It was obvious that her words had ventured too far by the abrupt rip of rubber casing being stripped from wire. He halted and pushed her against the wall with a glare. She had definitely hit a nerve, but it was one he refused to admit bothered him. Instead, he escalated the situation further, exposing one collarbone with the tip of his blade.

"This?" He inquired, displaying a badly mangled scar, with a curt but nearly delirious laugh. "This happened in a filthy alley not unlike the one we're in now. Go back, and tell them that."

Fear of his maniacal outburst brought forth the truth from the girl, along with a spark of stubbornness, "I'm not going anywhere! The captain ordered me to accompany you!"

It took Fushimi a split second to process the confession. Of course, Munakata had sent her. Why? made good enough sense. Why her? was still baffling. He couldn't very well simply ignore an order from the captain, though. Somehow he'd have to find a way to shake her later.

Meanwhile, he let out a sarcastic laugh, "Hm, if you can keep up." He rounded the corner, then, and hastened his steps toward the lobby entrance.

Hotaru jogged after him, pointing out as the automatic doors parted, "I've managed to keep up thus far."

He hissed for her to keep quiet now that they were inside. With the way she just blurted things out, there was no way to be sure she wouldn't reveal their intentions or ask something like, 'how do you even plan on breaking in?' Though he could feel her eyes boring holes in the back of his head, she remained silent as ordered. That gave him the chance to focus on winding the bare wire into a coil.

While they stood awkwardly awaiting the elevator, Fushimi turned his attention back to his phone. Knowing the target's room number, he accessed the hotel's internal database to download the magnetic strip code to access the door. The unique binary pattern could be saved as a .WAV file and then played through any magnet to unlock the door. At least, theoretically. He had never tried it before.

When the elevator arrived, they stepped inside, and Fushimi pounded the number five harder than needed. The car ascended at a creaking crawl, and Fushimi leaned against the corner farthest from Hotaru. With the reflective paneling all around them, her appearance was irritatingly difficult to ignore. For one thing, he wasn't convinced that her choice in casualwear would be discrete enough.

The bulky sweater was so much larger than her that her hands were only halfway accessible, and it appeared to have been designed in such a useless way deliberately. The details on the shirt were made through raised twists of knit fabric that trailed down the front. The cream color with darker pepper flakes emphasized the Merlot color of the hair resting on its shoulders.

Fushimi scolded himself internally for feeling instantaneously agitated just by looking at her. How was it that her hair had the shade of a different alcohol each time she thrust herself into his day? It was like she was continuously mocking him. Besides that, her matching, slim jeans highlighted her complete lack of shape, making her look like a child in her creepy uncle's clothes. He realized, then, that if they went on this journey together, people would think he was that creepy uncle.

With a scowl, Hotaru addressed the contempt on his face, "Seriously? If you're going to criticize me, do it to my face. Don't talk behind my back to the voices in your head."

Ignoring the suggestion that he was mentally insane, Fushimi revealed frankly, "You're idea of dressing down is hideous. If you dress like that, you'll give us away."

Of course, his way of expressing that opinion was immediately offensive. Arms crossed, Hotaru shot back, "Excuse me? Taste is subjective. Did you think I was trying to impress you?" With a scoff, she assured, "As if. I chose this for its practical uses. Not only will it preserve warmth as well as any coat without restricting movement, it also allows for ample--"

If she hadn't been interrupted, she would have explained that she had very cleverly used the excess size as a place to store things that needed to be hidden. In the midst of her explanation, though, he stepped up to her with a scrutinizing frown. A head taller than her, he towered intimidatingly when he stepped close enough that their toes touched, casting a cold shadow over her. Without permission, and without saying a word, Fushimi grasped the left hem of her sweater and lifted it off her slender hip. She tried, but she couldn't keep on talking objectively considering the close quarters.

As he expected, there was a large sheath strapped around her waist which contained some sort of hunting knife she obviously couldn't use. Taking it out, he held it up between their faces until he knew he had her full attention.

Stunned, Hotaru stuttered as the elevator dinged and the door opened, "H-how did you...?"

"I could see it. It's on the wrong side."

Letting go of the knife's handle, he walked away as if having thoroughly proved his point that she didn't belong on this mission. She scrambled to catch it so that no one would be hurt by the falling blade and then stumbled out some intellectual catchphrase that he paid no attention to but would probably always remember she had said. Her voice grated on his nerves, and even more so when she was acting like a snobby, goodie-two-shoe, which was almost always.

Once she realized her lecture wasn't getting a reaction out of him, she fell back to immature comebacks. "You're one to talk, in your old man cardigan."

Even if she didn't deserve it, that got him to look back at her with a vaguely incredulous expression and the eyes of a dead fish. Hand on her hip while shaking the other finger at him, somehow the look snapped something in him. It made him think of someone, and her hair. Her goddamned, rosewood colored hair pissed him off.

Unable to restrain himself, Fushimi spat, "You remind me of a bar."

"What?" Hotaru really had no clue of the deeper meaning behind his words. To her, it was a groundless insult, defacing her character for no reason. Of all establishments he could have picked, why make her seem like some dried up alcoholic who spent all of a meaningless life drinking? "What exactly is that supposed to mean?" She demanded loud enough for her words to echo down the hall.

In response, Fushimi simply clicked his tongue to indicate he was fed up with the banter. He abruptly changed the subject. "Give me your purse."

"What?" She questioned again, unconsciously laying a hand on the strap that crossed her chest, and he thought she was beginning to sound like a broken record.

"Your purse," Fushimi repeated in irritation.

"No way!" She refused, backing away. "I don't even know what you're doing here yet."

Fushimi sighed. "I'm working!" Giving up on reason, he tried a different approach, "As your superior officer, I can reclaim any of your belongings for personal use whenever I see fit."

Without thoroughly researching the claim, she could think of no loophole or exception to his right and forked over her bag. He wasted no time in dumping all the contents on the floor and squatting down to filter through them. There was some floss, powder foundation, heavy-duty hand cream, scrap paper, some punch cards, a manga, and some other miscellaneous items. After checking all the pockets, he shoved everything back into the main compartment.

"You could have told me you don't have anything useful," he scoffed.

She made an exasperated gesture as if asking, what did you expect? "You didn't even tell me what you were looking for."

On second thought, Fushimi retrieved her set of keys and began to remove everything from the ring. Combined with his disassembly of the headphones, that piqued her curiosity and she continued, "What, are you trying to jimmy-rig something MacGyver style?"

Looking up from his job of wrapping the open end of the wire around the ring, he replied in bewilderment, "MacGyver?" A blank pause lingered between the two during which he just stared up at her. Eventually, he snapped out of it and plugged the contraption into the AUX jack on his phone.

Giving her back her purse, he continued walking and answered ordinarily, "It's for the magnetic strip reader."

"We're breaking in their room?" She questioned in shock, definitely louder than she should have for the time of night.

Fushimi's head drooped, and he grumbled, "What did you think we were doing?"

They arrived at the designated room then, and Fushimi pressed himself against the wall out of view as a precaution. He slid the magnified keyring into the slot for the access card and sent the encoded signal by pushing play on his device's media player. The red light on the reader switched to green, and they heard the latch slide open.

Reaching for the door's handle, he whispered, "You stay out here."

The door cracked open bit by bit, until it was hindered by a security chain. That was by no means an insurmountable obstacle for the somewhat underhanded civil servant. He quickly unwound the metal coil of his headphones. Hooking the keyring around the end of the chain, he threaded the wire over the top of the door and closed it gently while pulling the wire towards the hinges. A second later they heard the chain fall from its track, and Fushimi crept into the room.

Even though the black-out curtains were drawn, a gap between the two let in the light of the full moon in one streak. Fushimi navigated his way through the room by this light to the bed where the couple had fallen asleep. Both were entirely topless, indicating the purpose for coming to this particular location had already been accomplished, but conveniently the disheveled sheets covered any body parts one wouldn't want to see.

Fushimi, for his part, gave no attention to their current states of undress and called out with knife already in hand, "Yamamoto, Kenji!"

The man stirred in the bed but refused to wake from his peaceful slumber. When he changed position, the woman with him moaned discontentedly from the disturbance and squeezed further into the covers. This was going to be more bothersome than expected.

Fushimi stepped out of the moonlight with a sigh. Approaching the side of the bed, still bearing daggers, he repeated Kenji's name from directly above his face. That, too, would have been as ominous as the original call, if only the man would awaken. He must have been equally as inebriated as his female companion even though he walked a straight line because his eyes still didn't crack open.

In their careless wrestling the couple had tossed everything in their way off the bed, pillows included. Fushimi retrieved one of them to use as a tool. He ought to just smother the sleeping man; it would be quieter and less messy. That would avenge Hayashi. If he did that, there would be no leads to her whereabouts, however. He settled for something abrupt but safer. Pumping blue aura into the fluffy cushion, he swung it at the man's face.

The impact pushed him backward, slamming his head against the bed's wooden frame. He rolled over and reached slowly to rub the sore spot, but even this did not fully rouse the heavy sleeper. The sudden movement did wake the female, however. Just as Fushimi's aura subsided, she looked up to see a blue glow disappear, leaving visible only the reflection of the moon in his glasses like the eyes of a wild beast in a haunted forest.

She shrieked -- loudly enough to hurt Fushimi's ears. Finally, Kenji sat up to defend his damsel. He stroked her arm gently and asked what it was. She could only point in Fushimi's direction and sputter. With enough time for his eyes to adjust to the night, Kenji recognized the outline of a person lurking over him.

Surprised at first, he feigned strength and ordered, "D-dude, get your own room."

"Are you Yamamoto, Kenji?" Fushimi questioned from the shadows.

"Yeah..." he answered uncertainly.

"Then I'm in the right place." The smirk that accompanied the assurance gleamed in the dark like an off-kilter, crescent moon, and Fushimi lunged forward.

Kenji leaned away, questioning "Who are you?"

Fushimi stopped short and dropped his arms to his side in dismay. This soggy response was disappointingly bothersome. It was pathetic to wreak horrors on someone who cringed at the slightest hint of threat. How was he supposed to exact revenge on such a coward? On the other hand, it would be a simple thing to get information from a pansy.

"Who I am is far less relevant than who I work for. They're out for your blood, yours and your female companion, Hayashi, Azami." Fushimi gestured accusingly with a knife to the girl on the bed who was quickly sobering up.

"Whoa whoa, wait, this isn't Hayashi," Kenji defended his date in a mediocre show of bravado. A moment later, the words settled in his mind, prompting a second thought, "How do you know about Hayashi?"

Fushimi had no difficulty answering truthfully in an eerily taunting tone, "Remember the car you crashed? The grey, imported sedan with a trunk full of narcotics that you dumped into the ocean? You abandoned her there, remember? You, you weren't so difficult to track down, but it appears that one is a little more slippery."

"Hayashi has nothing to do with this, honestly."

"Of course not," Fushimi again spoke the truth but with feigned sarcasm. "She was just your temporary travel consort, much like your current company."

"Don't talk about her that way!"

If Kenji was arguing now, it meant he had grown too comfortable with the level of intimidation. Fushimi decided to turn it back up a notch. Interrupting the tail end of the defense, he drove a dagger into the wooden headboard and leaned closer to Kenji's face.

"Thanks to your reckless driving, she knows too much. Now tell me where she is and maybe, just maybe, I won't have to kill you."

"W-what are you going to do to her?"

Fushimi sank in further, leaving a lack of space that could rival Munakata in its invasiveness. With his free hand, he eased a dagger from his sleeve against Kenji's jawline. Acting like he might demonstrate in response, he answered with a slithering tongue, "Make sure she won't talk."

Kenji answered somewhat frantically, "Look man, I don't know where she is! I left right after the crash, and by the time I got back with the boss, the car was gone and so was she! I never saw her again; I swear!"

Without a word, Fushimi expressed his dissatisfaction with the knife. He pressed the blade further into the skin, slowly so that it hurt worse, as a drop of blood trickled across the silver surface. The intention was not to injure him, but to go just far enough to sting like nicking oneself with a razor.

The message was received loud and clear because Kenji attempted another desperate reply, "Okay--Okay, wait! Wait! My boss said he already took care of this! Just call him and get your money back!"

Fushimi laughed a fake, exaggerated, facetious sneer. "You think you can silence me with a bribe? I have no interest in anything so material as--"

"Fushimi!" A grating voice interrupted with an authority its owner did not possess. "That's enough!"

The young man who had been called stood and faced the imposter with an unhinged expression on his face. The dagger that had been covered in thin streams of blood hung by his side as he strode toward the female who had never done anything but annoy him. His eyes were distant as he snarled, "What kind of idiot are you to go around shouting names, Hotaru, Akihime?"

Frightened by this foreign animal she'd never seen before in her commanding officer, Hotaru backpedaled into the hotel wall across from the bed. The way he had hissed her name through his teeth was like he was condemning her to death for her error. Nervous as he drew ever nearer, she tried to maintain her position.

"That's enough," she practically whispered, "enough."

When the toes of his sneakers kicked against her boots, the intimidation was complete, and Fushimi reminded, "I told you to stay out of this."

"That isn't our form of justice," she asserted, having steeled her nerves to properly carry out their King's orders.

Fushimi scoffed with a flick of his tongue. She obviously didn't know, as most of Scepter 4 did not, just why Munakata had recruited him.

In the background, Kenji had recovered a bit of his poise because of the interruption. "Who is she," he wondered to himself, "his boss' daughter?" The answer wasn't so important to him in any case. Taking the knife that had been driven into the headboard, he tossed it toward his attacker's unsuspecting back.

Fushimi heard the whoosh of air and, without looking, raised his hand to deflect the coming blade. It was diverted into the television screen causing a few sparks. Fushimi turned back to Kenji with a piercing glare amplified by the moonlight glinting off his glasses mid-turn. He had no reason to hold back, in spite of what Hotaru said. At the same time, he believed this man's claim that he also did not know where Hayashi had gone after the crash. There was no need to torture him further.

Instead, Fushimi chose to conclude the interrogation with the question, "Where can this boss of yours be found?"

"Where?" Kenji repeated with a bit of apprehension, then pointed to the corner of his eye, asking, "You see this?" In the near absolute darkness not much could be seen, but Fushimi recalled easily enough the purple and green accents on his face, as well as the cracked lip barely scabbing over. It was clear those were the things Kenji wished for him to see with the gesture when the man continued, "They'll do way worse to me than you can if I tell you that."

Fushimi snorted at that claim. Apparently he hadn't done his job thoroughly. With a tough yank on its handle, he retrieved the stray knife from the television screen and took a step back toward the mule to reinforce his role as sole threat.

"Fushimi!" Hotaru exclaimed, shocked by this sinister side of Captain's Pet. Grabbing his arm, she restrained him while insisting, "No more."

He easily sloughed out of her grip and shoved her away roughly with a bitter cry, "Out of my way!"

Meanwhile, Kenji had grabbed the pad of sticky notes and pen provided by the hotel on their end table. Scribbling something down, he compromised, "Look, contact Torou alright? He's my handler. He knows more than me. But don't expect him to be intimidated by your tactics."

Fushimi snatched up the paper and faked another attack just to see the man flinch. Clicking his tongue in derision, he murmured, "He's not even worth it," then walked away and didn't look back again.

After the tall imposter had finished pushing his plaintiff companion out of the room in a bizarrely anticlimactic dispute, silence returned to the hotel. Kenji sat there on the bed for a little while just reflecting on what had happened. Abruptly, for the second time that night he found his face smashed by a pillow.

As his head bonked once more against the headboard, Kenji called out, "What now?"

The woman who had been with him all night was now half-dressed beside the bed with an angry look on her face. "Who's Hayashi?" She questioned furiously. Before he could even answer, she shouted, "You two-timing cheat!" and stormed out of the room.

 ** _Hope you liked it. We're working on the next one already._**


	23. Investigation

_**Here's the next chapter. We've been missing all of you. Please enjoy...**_

* * *

At that time of night, the city was basically dead, aside from the few people on the shadier streets around the hotel. Fushimi had absolutely no intention of remaining in that neighborhood a second longer than necessary, especially not with a loud-mouthed, naive tagalong. Neither did he want to stray too far, since his mission would soon continue in those parts.

There was a place somewhat nearby where he used to occasionally spend the night when he didn't want to be in _that_ house way back then. He supposed it wouldn't be okay to leave one of the captain's men to fend for herself on the streets. He would have to take her along for now and shake her in the safety of daylight.

"Mattaku." He muttered part of the word in frustration as he scratched the back of his head, "What a bother. Let's go."

Surprised by his invitation, regardless of its brusque tone, Hotaru had to hurry to keep up. "Hmm? Are we going after Torou now?"

"Don't say 'we' like you know what I'm doing," he complained under his breath.

Hotaru was close enough to hear it, though, and looked curiously up at his grouchy face, "Didn't you say something about it being official clan business? Unless you're 'working' for some criminal organization; in which case, I should probably report you to the captain."

Fushimi didn't humor her with a response until after they had arrived at their destination. A shabby looking building housed a 24 hour, Arab-run internet cafe, but he knew the quality of their bandwidth was far higher than that of their storefront. His current company did not know and commented on that fact as they entered the building.

"What are we doing in a place like this?" Her question ended in a tone of disgust.

Even then, he only spared her a word: "Research."

He checked out two computer stations from the middle-aged Iranian at the counter who had thus far been spending his night watching old American Westerns. As he took the money for a full night's session, in cash, from his wallet, the Arab's face registered sudden recognition.

"Ah, you're that kid!" He announced in terms so vague it was impossible to confirm. "My, my you've grown so much these past five years, but I would recognize that pale skin and gloomy face no matter how much time passes." Then, concerning Hotaru, he reprimanded in disappointment, "Although, you should know, this is no place to bring a date."

Hotaru's face turned bright red as she tried to deny the implications. "N-no, we're...colleagues, yeah colleagues. That's all."

Fushimi reaffirmed in a grumble, "I'd never date someone like this person."

The employee laughed. "Very well then. 'The customer is always right.' Isn't that true? Please enjoy your," he paused suggestively, " _session_ at stations eight and nine."

Waving off the harassment like he paid no heed to the aging night clerk, Fushimi slumped heavily into the chair facing computer number eight.

Hotaru followed him closely, inquiring, "What exactly are we researching?"

" _You_ are researching over there," he stated bluntly, pointing to the other side of a flimsy partition.

After stepping into booth number nine, Hotaru stood tiptoe to see over the padded cubicle and pointed out, "I said 'what' not 'where.'"

"You can watch cat videos for all I care."

Reluctantly compliant, she retreated into her cage, finally giving Fushimi a break. He got right down to business.

Torou couldn't be from around Shizume. Fushimi didn't recognize the name at all from his time guarding HOMRA's neighborhood, and the dealer couldn't be newer than that to have known Hayashi before her green days. The note Kenji had scribbled down for him was barely useful. It read "Sakuraya," which was nothing more than a restaurant chain.

At least Fushimi was mildly knowledgeable of the subject. Aside from the back alleys and underground clubs like EDGE around Shizume, there were really only two regions in Tokyo where organized drug rings did their business. One, about a fifteen minute drive west, happened to also have the aforementioned bakery, which a quick internet search confirmed.

Fushimi next read from public records about recent criminal activity from that neighborhood. A large percentage of what was listed were cases of pickpocketing or fraud against tourists, but there also appeared to be a number of gang related crimes, including drug busts. That definitely would be the most likely vicinity to search for Torou. He would head there, but only under the cover of darkness upon the next nightfall.

In the meantime, he figured he should probably brush up on the latest developments in street lingo, else they'd call his bluff immediately.

On the other side of the partition, Hotaru was having a far less productive search. Seeing as Fushimi had left her entirely in the dark regarding details, she could only make vague guesses. She presumed, by Fushimi's own words, that this 'handler' with the codename Torou must in someway be related to the current case of the Mouri brothers and attempted to find a connection. One did not exist. She did happen to learn that, even though the word Torou means "fruitless effort," the name was more likely referring to the Spanish word for Bull.

Eventually giving up on her own "torou," Hotaru snuck quietly over to Fushimi's station, hoping to get ideas by spying on his screen. What she found was nothing she could have ever expected. Fushimi repeated foreign words under his breath, as if trying to memorize them. She squinted to get a better look at the monitor. It appeared to be a random selection of English words listed alphabetically.

"Broker... Burnout... Connection..." He muttered, careful to pronounce each syllable accurately.

"Are you learning English?" She couldn't help but ask.

Fushimi lifted his gaze to peer at her listlessly over his shoulder. _She really couldn't mind her own business for more than a minute, could she?_

"Not particularly," he denied disinterestedly. It wasn't of his own volition that these criminals thought they'd sound cool and tough if they imitated Americans.

"Then what's all this about?" She wondered curiously.

He maintained his aloof demeanor with a quipped, "Technical jargon."

Exhausted from the night's adventures, as well as the time itself, Hotaru let herself slide down the temporary wall and yawned dramatically.

Displeased to see her settle in, Fushimi questioned dryly, "Is something wrong with your station?"

She responded with a slow stretch that displaced her oversized sweater off her shoulder. Nothing was exposed thanks to a neutral colored undershirt, but it still indicated she was getting far too comfortable. That said, it would most likely be far more bothersome to get rid of her than to simply ignore her presence. Still, he didn't intend to practice street slang in front of her.

He turned his attention instead to the deep web forums he frequented. There would surely be someone on the black market who knew more about this Torou. He left messages in a few places and then leaned back in his chair, satisfied with his efforts. It would probably be a few hours before anyone replied.

Hotaru was fast asleep with her arms wrapped around her knees, drooling lightly into her elbow. She shivered. As much as she irritated him, he found himself begrudgingly laying his jacket over her curled up body.

By the time Kanra came online, Fushimi had also fallen asleep in his office chair.

* * *

"Hey, Hayashi," Cricket called upon entering her house the next morning when there was no sign of Azami in the immediate vicinity. "I specifically asked you if any ex-boyfriends would be coming to look for you, and you told me no."

Her temporary tenant wasn't in the kitchen scrounging for breakfast so she went down the hall to the bathroom. Maybe she was still getting ready for the day.

"So how come some scrawny creeper your age with a knife came asking me about you at the club last night?"

The bathroom was vacant as well, so she took a couple steps more and knocked on the door of the twins' bedroom. "You're not still sleeping, are you?"

There continued to be no answer but the silence of the house and, at that point, Cricket got a bit worried. "Hey," she voiced again to announce her presence and opened the door at the same time, halfway afraid she might stumble into a chaotic scene. Instead, the room was cleaner than when Azami had arrived—toys mostly put away, used sheets replaced with clean ones, and the bed made. Lying neatly on the pillow was a single sheet of paper—to be exact, it was a short note written on the back of a page from a coloring book in handwriting that made her flashback to middle school when she regularly saw the neat style. Those were the days when Azami had excelled in penmanship before she took up graffiti.

 _Knew I needed to get out before the twins got back. Thanks for everything. I missed our friendship. I'll come back after I figure out what's going on. Take care of yourself. Please remember, don't talk to anyone. Til later…_

* * *

A tall, messy-haired young man and his darkly clad, expressionless companion stood along the curb and studied the brick building across the street from them. It was a well-known establishment in some circles, a less than preferable choice of place to visit in a few of those circles, including their own. They had been there for several minutes now, feeling out how safe it would be for them to go inside and if they should prepare for a fight or not once they were through the door. Little did they know, that a couple years prior, their best friend and the person they were now trying to find, had stood in that exact spot and conducted the same investigation of the building down to the simple "Welcome" sign. Her decision to take the risk and go inside had led to some desirable results in the end, but would they fare just as well?

" _Okay, let's go over this again with fresh brains," Kazuki suggested._

 _That sounded like a reasonable idea to Shun after they had spent most of the previous night stalking a certain Scepter 4 officer, then helping to clean up the mess they made of a particular convenience store during the altercation. They had to finally rest for a bit in the wee hours of the morning and quell their emotions at the whole situation gone awry so they could get back to their clan responsibilities in the morning. Now back on duty, they were ready to delve into the issue again with all of the city's assets at their disposal._

" _Some say that they saw her come home and go to bed; others say they didn't see her at all," Shun listed._

" _Right, so she might have come home, but she didn't go to bed or she would have still been there when we went to go find her the next day. Plus, we saw her go on recon that morning so we know she was on a legit mission. So either she found a lead to follow up—"_

" _A dangerous lead."_

"— _or she got another mission to go on while she was still on the clock."_

" _An equally dangerous mission. That she was assigned without us," Shun remarked unsurely._

" _Yeah, that caused her to go into hiding because Fushimi said she went to a safe place."_

" _Safe from us," Shun added._

 _Kazuki flapped his hand at such a silly notion proposed by the tech. "_ We're _not the ones she'd be hiding from. But whoever it is, she felt she needed to be off grid because of them."_

 _Shun nodded and muttered thoughtfully, "A place where she'd feel safe that's off grid to us…" His eyes met the taller male's when an obvious answer became apparent to the both of them._

 _Kazuki groaned and clasped his head between his hands. "Why didn't_ I _think of that? But that's a worse idea than the one I had before!"_

Shun looked up to his partner with a questioning gleam in his dark eyes. "Do you have a plan?"

"Sure I do," Kazuki replied, but the tone in his voice suggested to the other that he actually did _not_ have one or at least wasn't sure about it. If Fushimi had been right and Azami was trying to stay out of the Green Clan's sight, it would be wise for them not to use their powers in Red Clan territory, lest the Green King take note of their location. They'd have to go about this without a disguise. Trying to psyche up his confidence, the taller male said, "Follow my lead," and then strode across the street.

They were both momentarily taken aback by the subtle tinkling of the bell above the door when they entered and the welcoming greeting of "Irasshaimase" that followed. The room was completely empty save for the lone bartender who they all knew as Kusanagi, Izumo, who gave them a kind smile as he wiped down the surface of his counter, giving no indication of recognizing them as being from an opposing clan. It was all much too calm for what they had always imagined the base of the Red Clan would be.

They snapped out of the initial surprise quickly and Shun was surprised at how easily Kazuki fell into the persona he was trying to pull off. As he started across the bar, his perky demeanor slipped from his being, instead taking on more of the feel of an overworked businessman, though he really didn't look the part. Shun joined him at the bar while he dropped heavily onto one of the barstools.

"Can I get you anything?"

Kazuki brought his arms to the glossy bar and rested his face on them, doing a fantastic job of answering apathetically, "Something to take the edge off. Bourbon, maybe? Short one."

Shun gave him a look of questioning in regards to him actually buying a drink during the middle of the afternoon, but Kazuki used it as an opportunity to build his character. "My wife's been busting my ass about getting the house done, baby's been keeping us up at night, work's killing me, it's been rough…"

Shun blinked. That was all true to a point, but not to the degree that he made it sound. The darker boy was going to have to step up his game.

"I hear ya there," came from the bartender as he poured the drink and slid it down the surface to his customer's waiting hand. This was a conversation topic that Kusanagi heard often in his profession, but being that he wasn't really in a serious relationship, he tried to answer noncommittally.

Kazuki hummed to their agreement and raised his head a bit to peer into the amber liquid in the glass. "But we can't live without 'em, right? So it's gotta be worth it in the end." Kusanagi only gave him a generalized nod so he prodded a little further. "You got any women in your life?"

The blonde smiled a bit to himself. "Of sorts."

Kazuki perked up. "Oh yeah? What's she like? Worth it?"

Kusanagi rubbed briefly at the back of his head in embarrassment. "Ah, it's nothing like what you got. It's complicated."

The Green Clansman hummed again as if in understanding, then voiced, "One of those types, huh?" while taking a sip of his beverage to hide the quirk of his lips. They could be getting somewhere.

"Complicated, yeah," the bartender agreed and retrieved a carton of cigarettes from his pants pocket and fixed one between his lips while he gave the description some thought. Kazuki did his best to not let his feeling of disapproval come out on his face while the blonde continued on in a vague fashion after a moment, the white stick bobbing with his words, "Interesting to talk with, a bit cold…loyal to a fault, but all business…"

 _Cold…All business…_ The Green Clansmen could have believed he was talking about their lost friend if they hadn't known already that the Red Clan now had Azami's approval. Kazuki and Shun shared a look. _That's not our girl._

The latter took it upon himself to turn things toward a different angle. "What about for guys like me? You have any single hotties that frequent here?"

Kazuki smirked at his choice of character to adopt and lightly smacked his friend's arm. "Look at you, trying to pick up the ladies."

"Just trying to find where they all hang out for now."

Kusanagi took a moment to light his cigarette and take a thoughtful drag. Keep people talking in a mundane fashion and they'll absently finish their beverage without even noticing it, a lot of times ordering something else shortly thereafter. He eventually answered, "We've had a few—mostly foreigners, though."

Shun admitted, "I'm more into the local girls—athletic type, no drama…"

A brief chuckle escaped the bartender and he replied, "The home grown ones try to stay away from here."

He turned away from them to replace the bottle of bourbon on the shelf and take a moment to see what choices needed to be restocked while giving his customers the opportunity to decide what they'd like to try next. Kazuki was using the pause to nurse his bourbon and have a look around, alright, but not at the shelves of alcohol. Instead his eyes sought out anything that might point to the presence of the friend they were searching for—and find it he did.

The first thing was a copy of a picture tacked onto a corkboard near the end of the bar that he himself also had posted in their own hideout, that of the first and second placemen of the most recent Shizume City Arcade Tournament. The winner, HOMRA's own supposedly fearless Yatagarasu, was looking positively terrified that he had obliviously thrown his arm around the Green Clan's Hayashi in his overwhelming excitement at his own victory only seconds before the picture was taken. That in itself was a notable declaration of the Red Clan's acceptance of Azami into their world.

The second clue came in the form of a wastebasket that had been left at the end of a coffee table situated between two couches. In this receptacle was substantial evidence of a cleanup done after a drawing game. Some of the drawings on top of the mound of trash getting ready to overflow looked very familiar in style.

These feelings were confirmed by his last observance. In the storefront windows that they had neglected to notice upon their arrival were snowflakes surrounding a snowman in a red scarf and green top hat on one side, and on the other, a hot beverage in a green mug situated in front of a roaring fireplace. His lips quirked against his glass.

"Those are some nice decorations you got there," he remarked.

Kusanagi followed his point to the windows. "Ah, a friend of ours did those in preparation for the winter season."

"Oh yeah? Are they still here? My wife wants me to paint so she can interior decorate. I could use someone who actually has the skill."

Kusanagi's face took on a tiny smile that could have contained fondness, a development that neither Green Clansman expected. "I think she only specializes in graffiti, and unfortunately, she's gone now."

He then directed his eyes to the glossy counter and thus missed Kazuki's face falling when he voiced, "That sucks…"

Kusanagi sighed out a cloud of smoke in a gesture that Kazuki found expressed a bit of sadness or perhaps worry, another action he didn't expect. Then the bartender stabbed his cigarette in the direction of his customer's glass. "You gonna need a meal to go with that?"

Kazuki looked down at his beverage. It was almost gone now so he knocked back the last gulp and declined, "Nah, I better head back. Thanks for the service."

He handed the bar owner the appropriate money and together he and his partner exited the establishment. Once across the street, Shun spoke up, "Well that was a bust. She's already gone."

"Yeah, but she _was_ there—recently—so we know she's still okay."

"How can you be sure?"

"The pictures," Kazuki answered simply. "Each artist has their own flare. I'd recognize Azami's anywhere."

"So we're back at the starting line. Where do we look now?" He put a hand to his chin in thought and after a little while suggested, "Maybe we need go back to trying to find which mission she went on. If we can find that out, then maybe we'll know what went wrong—"

"And who she'd need to hide from so then we can narrow down where she went," Kazuki finished for him. "Okay, we know usually she doesn't like to stay out too much past midnight unless she's got a really good lead so we just need to see what missions were posted late enough that day to keep her out."

"We better check in first, though," Shun pointed out.

"Yeah and get something to eat so we can keep thinking straight," said Kazuki and then shrugged at the look Shun gave him which read, _Maybe you shouldn't have decided to drink on an empty stomach at lunchtime._

* * *

As Yata approached the familiar domain of a well-known informant of HOMRA, he heaved an exasperated sigh. He had started out searching the neutral zone for any places Hayashi might be lying low, but that had quickly proved fruitless. He didn't know many places she'd go other than the arcade, even knowing some of her other interests.

Then it occurred to him that even if she didn't believe him, Anna, or Fushimi about the Green Clan's dangerous side, he figured she would continue to err on the side of caution in case there was a double-agent among them or something. If she did, then she'd have to pick a place to hide that was out of view from traffic cameras and the like. He hoped that would be the same kind of place where this strain rebellion seeking recruits would also not look for her.

The next idea had come to him when he remembered Kusanagi's reassurance that she'd be safe because he had one of his shadier contacts listening for chatter about her so he could snuff it out early. Against his will, but to his benefit, he had recalled the bit of her past that she had divulged to him, and he assumed the underworld would be a good place for her to stay undetected. But she probably had contacts there, herself, and the underbelly of Shizume was much larger than just the slums of the Black Clan's base. He couldn't just go and ask Kusanagi to give him a starting point either because that would expose that he was going against Anna's wishes.

Listening to the sound of his lone set of footsteps in the tiled hallway, he sighed again. _Where did that idiot go?_

A ruckus coming from his destination perked his ears and he jogged the last few feet. A shout of "Give me back my money!" had him pulling aside the curtain to see an angry middle-aged man wearing a disheveled suit leaning over the table so his unshaven face was closer to the woman on the other side. She didn't seem too intimidated yet.

"There are no refunds just because you don't like what I've foreseen."

"You tricked me!"

The woman looked past him then since she caught a glimpse of their visitor and exclaimed gratefully, "Ah! Yata-san!"

The man cast him a disinterested look, but was not deterred from his mission. "I can't spare that money on a fraud!"

She fixed him with a disapproving stare and replied matter-of-factly, "There was nothing fraudulent about what I did. If you didn't have the money to spare then you shouldn't have come to me instead of using it on bus fare to look for a job."

"Why you—!"

Yata had heard enough. He took a step forward. "Back off."

The man now turned to glare at him. "This is none of your business!"

The vanguard replied with a dirty look of his own, "It is now. I'm in a hurry here, and you're wasting my time. Get lost."

"Who do you think you are?"

With a smirk, Yata reached to his collar and brandished his mark of pride. "I'm Yatagarasu of HOMRA. And you don't want to find out why they call me that. Get lost, old man, or get ready to burn."

The man's face showed fear at first which then fell to acceptance of defeat. If HOMRA was here and willing to defend the witch, there was no way he'd win. Shoulders slumped, he meandered around Yata and out the exit, sulking, "On top of it all, now this…"

Yata watched him go with a smirk on his face, but there was a momentary emptiness in the pit of his stomach. He was still proud of being part of his clan, but without it being led by Mikoto-san, the threat it posed to their enemies just didn't feel the same. He stood at the entryway contemplating that for a moment and burying it to focus once again on the matter at hand.

The psychic who served as an informant for their clan drew him. "Something terrible has happened. You're worried."

Yata turned back to look at her, unsure at first how to respond. A quick study of him gave her the answer, though.

"Ah, someone's gone missing—someone who has become very important to you all."

It still unnerved the Red Clansman how she did that. Chitose had explained to him once how she only needed to make educated guesses and read his body language to pull off her stunts, and Totsuka had even demonstrated to him how to do it. Still, he couldn't help the slight chill that crept down his spine that caused him to wonder if she wasn't connected to some other power. Maybe it was just the lure of the atmosphere.

He tried not to stare too long into the numerous tiny candles that lined the walls and the occasional skull positioned here or there as if to keep an eye on him. He deliberately averted his gaze from the crystal ball her hand rested on, too, as he parked in front of her table. Where to begin?

"What do you wish to know?"

"Where she is," Yata answered simply.

"Perhaps I have seen something…" Sometimes it took her a few lines of dialogue to come out of her professional mode and get back to the familiarity they had. After all, there was no need for that around the Red Clan. She had reached that point so she then requested plainly, "Tell me about her."

"She's, uh…" Describe Hayashi? How was he supposed to do that? It would be great if this woman actually could foresee everything. He got so flustered he just started listing facts in no sort of organized manner. "S-She's my age…shorter than me—a lot shorter…brown eyes, punk hair…Uh, she likes black and green a lot…annoying as hell! She doesn't listen, and then she wants to make fun of _me_ for doing stupid stuff!"

The psychic smiled a little to herself as she took in this facet of Yatagarasu she hadn't seen before. It was the side of him that usually reacted sheepishly toward girls, sure, but the way he was mumbling was almost fond despite the anger and worry inside him. Mixed with the pink dusting his cheeks in the dull lighting and the way he thumbed his nose, it all clued her in that he liked this girl.

"Climbing!" he blurted suddenly. "She's really good at climbing and athletic stuff. She does parkour and she taught me some of her tricks, but…" _Never mind. He wasn't about to admit that he had kind of failed at some of them._ "And she's a kickass fighter with it, too."

"I think I'd like to meet her. She sounds nice," the woman commented. "Why are you worried?"

"Uh, well, the thing is…since she's gone missing…" Yata trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck, not sure how many gory details he wanted to share. "She was hurt in a car wreck a few days before that and I think the yakuza might be after her now so she's on the run like that."

Somehow the mention of a car wreck and the yakuza in the same sentence triggered something in the psychic's recollection. "Yata-san, what is her name?"

 _Oh, he had forgotten that part._ "Hayashi. Hayashi, Azami."

"Oh my…" the woman whispered to herself.

"Huh? You heard something?"

"She's in trouble."

Yata scoffed to himself. "Tch. She damn sure will be when I find her."

"No, Yata-san, imminently," the psychic said, waving her hands between them as if to disperse his impending anger. "A few days ago, a sharply dressed man came to me, inquiring where he should look for his next _business venture_. He got a phone call in the middle of our session and had to step out to take it. He was very upset to be interrupted so his voice was raised and I heard him talking about a car wreck and damaged products. He demanded who should be to blame and seemed very surprised when he repeated the answer."

"Hayashi?!" Yata echoed the man's reaction that day.

"I hope your friend is alright," the female spoke with concern in her tone. "He's not a nice man."

" _Who?_ " Yata demanded suddenly, almost jumping across the table between them in his haste. "Who was that guy?"

"He's the leader of Ichiban, Sato."

Yata dropped back into his seat in surprise, brows furrowed and mouth parted, frozen in unspoken reaction. After a moment, he summed up the situation as succinctly as he was able.

"Fuck."

* * *

 _ **Oops, sorry to end the chapter with vulgarity! Bad Yata. (Nope, not apologizing for the continued suspense. Kateracks and Arait pride ourselves on such talents). Next chapter is partly finished already! See you soon.**_

 _ **Btw, if anyone knows how to make pointy brackets appear in our documents, please PM Arait. She's been trying to make them visible by standard HTML methods with no success, and it's actually going to be important to the story. Please and thank you.**_


	24. Sakuraya

_**Helloooo~ readers. Thanks for sticking it out through everything with us. Please enjoy this (longer than normal) installation, featuring Blue and Green. Also Fushimi's username is supposed to be *close bracket*User*underscore* but since ffn won't display that AT ALL we've settled on *greater than or equal to* because it appears similar.**_

* * *

Hotaru opened her eyes with a stretch when the sun was already high in the sky. Her body hurt everywhere from sleeping in such an unfitting position. As she rubbed her stiff neck, she nudged the mouse of the nearby computer to see its clock. _Already noon!_ At the same time, she just happened to see Kanra's return message.

[Never heard of any Torou...]

She really couldn't figure out what Fushimi was up to, except that he was deeply involved. Thinking about him and her mission roused her drowsy mind fully. He was nowhere to be seen. With how late she had slept in, he could easily be gone, without a trace. She had failed her king. After all, there was no way she'd catch up to him again. The only evidence left of his presence was the cardigan he had thrown over her, and an empty can of lightly sweetened coffee in the trash bin.

She thought maybe she had better examine the online conversation thoroughly for clues.

[Ah~~ you've been around asking scary questions a lot lately ≥User_ ] -Kanra

[I have no need for useless commentary. Do you have information or not?] -≥User_

[You were offline for so long, I was beginning to think you don't like me ;_;] -Kanra

[I don't] -≥User_

[If you're into urban legends, check out **this site** ] -Kanra

[I'll flag your posts] -≥User_

[I'm the admin XP] -Kanra

[Never heard of any Torou in Shinjuku, tho...

Before she could get to any real content, a voice interrupted her from behind, "Oi. Did someone tell you you could touch that?"

Caught once again, she froze and turned around slowly. The very person she thought had abandoned her, stood there with a condemning glare, silently ordering her to remove her hand from the mouse. She reacted as if dealing with a feral animal, carefully complying so as not to exacerbate an already unstable situation.

"Fushimi? You're still here?"

He sipped from another can of coffee - his second of the day - with a faint vanilla flavor and not too much sugar. "What did y'think?" He muttered.

"Well I thought...I thought you left me behind like you said you would," she revealed honestly, seeming somewhat relieved that he had remained.

His expression immediately sank in dismay as he recalled his earlier attempt to do just that. Still unwilling to leave her on the wrong side of town, he had called Akiyama that morning to request "transport of a potentially endangered, innocent, enabled person."

"Did you find another strain victim?" The senior member of the Special Duty Corps had inquired.

"Something like that..." Fushimi had grumbled.

Unfortunately, poor timing had him calling while Akiyama was speaking to the captain. Munakata had deduced the particular "enabled person" Fushimi had "found" in an unsafe district as Hotaru and ordered him, through Akiyama's phone, to continue traveling with the female. He hadn't refused because that would have encouraged the two back at base to question what he was doing. With the current workload, he would never receive direct permission to help a rival clansman.

That didn't mean he would be happy about it.

Begrudgingly, he answered Hotaru, "I was trying to get a refund for the station you _didn't use_ by optimizing the cafe's firewall." Snatching his jacket back from her while she was still stunned, he snapped, "Let's go."

She hurried to her feet. "Where are we going now?"

"The club."

"Again?"

He shut down the computer just in time to miss one last message.

[Oh that's right~ you asked about that graffiti before. I have seen something like "Torou" painted on walls south of here] -Kanra

-≥User_ logged out.

[Oops, too late! Oh well] -Kanra

-Kanra logged out.

-There is no one in this chat now.

* * *

Kazuki and Shun made it back to base in time to eat lunch in the mess hall amidst the company of a troop of clansmen who had just returned from various mission. The two plunked down among the rambunctious bunch at one end of a table closest to the door in case they made a breakthrough and had to exit quickly. In the meantime, they enjoyed their meal and chatted idly with their clansmen.

Kazuki laid his phone before him and off to the side so he could scroll through the Jungle App while chewing but not drip on his screen. He had received a mission from Souma-san to team up with Shun and head into the business district of their territory where there had been rumor of a "kidnapping" and another of the sigils for this rising rebellion had been spotted on a storefront. He wondered if Souma knew they were still looking for Azami and if this investigation with the store was just an attempt to distract them.

"Have any of you run into this rebellion?" he asked over the noise of those around him.

"Yo, those guys are crazy," the kid next to him responded. "My mission the other day was to sneak into Red Clan territory and snap a picture of their King—"

Kazuki blinked in surprise. "Souma-san assigned you to sneak into HOMRA's territory by yourself?"

"Nah, man, that one came from the Green King himself," the kid replied with a hint of pride in his voice that dispersed when he supplied, "Couldn't find her, though."

Kazuki frowned. He hadn't gotten any jobs posted by their newly-revealed, true King. Though, if Hisui was making missions like that, he wasn't sure he wanted to receive any. Sneaking into Red Clan territory was dangerous enough by itself, but going alone and trying to get a discreet picture of their King…? Plus, this guy who was chosen for it had joined not too long ago. Why would Hisui ask _him_ to do it?

"Anyway," the kid went on, eager to get to the juicy bit of his recounting. "Those rebels tried to snatch a strain right in broad daylight!"

"Did you get a look at the sigil?" Kazuki queried.

"Nah, they didn't get the job done. Three of the HOMRA boys showed up to save her."

"There was a fight?" an eavesdropper asked.

"Oh yeah. Yatagarasu was getting his ass handed to him for a while til he figured out how to barbecue the guy."

"No shit?" someone at the next table hollered. "I would pay money to see that!"

"Why, Nakahara? You thinking about joining up?" a girl asked from the opposite side of the table from Kazuki and a couple chairs down.

The addressed male waved away her jeering words and remarked, "Our next mission is to go after photos of the sigil is all."

"Really? Lemme look."

The kid next to Kazuki leaned over to grab his phone at the same time as the older clansman reached for his soda, and that was when disaster struck. The boy's hand bumped Kazuki's which knocked the beverage over directly onto Kazuki's PDA. The device subsequently erupted into unsettling popping noises and sparks as the carbonated syrup soaked into the circuitry.

"Shit, man! I'm sorry!" the younger male apologized in sincerity as he began stealing napkins from the others dining to soak up the mess.

Kazuki used his own to wipe off his PDA. "It's alright," he said, though his words creased his brow with uncertainty. Would it be alright? It obviously wasn't going to turn back on. How would his app information get transferred to a new device if his SIM chip was fried, let alone his personal information? He had accepted his latest job at the start of his lunch so that would be recorded in the database and Shun probably got the same notification so he'd have the details…

Kazuki would report the unfortunate mishap to Souma-san later. For now, however, his investigation was incomplete. He asked the perpetrator, "Can I use _your_ phone for a minute, though?"

"Sure, sure," the guy agreed, forking the PDA over as he continued to clean up.

The older male stepped away from the table so nothing would happen to _this_ device and went to the screen for current jobs. He filtered the selection for the last time he saw Azami to three days after and scanned the list; nothing jumped out right away—at least not what this rookie was privileged to see. There were a couple interesting recon scenarios and several information gathering options, even a discreet delivery opportunity, but none of those would have been complicated enough to keep Azami out late if they did snag her interest in the first place.

He cleared the filters and stared at the screen in thought, tapping the device gently against his palm as he did so. He couldn't think of any particular wording to search in order to yield results more specific to their friend. Usually it didn't matter much what the job was because Azami was happy as long as she was busy and especially if she was with her friends.

A blinking red box proclaimed that there were new jobs available in the section for ongoing missions, which was basically a free-for-all area where it wasn't really limited to certain ranks. Since Azami never got a phone until recently, she hadn't ever bothered to learn the ins and outs of the app instead opting to receive her jobs directly from Souma-san or through the grapevine via himself or Shun. It was doubtful any of these would be assigned to her, but it gave his idle thumbs something to do while he continued his musings. Once the screen refreshed, though, he almost dropped the phone altogether in shock.

Right at the top of the list were three bounties. Kazuki was now familiar with the images of HOMRA's Yatagarasu and Scepter 4's Fushimi, but there was one posting he had never seen before. Nestled between the two and prized at 3,500 JP was a picture of his best friend's smiling face.

A hand on his shoulder almost made Kazuki jump and he whirled to see Shun had snuck up on him. He quizzed, "What's up with you? Did you find something?"

Kazuki shoved the PDA into his hands. "Have you ever seen this before?"

Shun raised his brows in surprise and then promptly glared at the screen when he demanded in an angry murmur, "Why the hell is there a bounty on Azami?"

"I don't know, but this is an ongoing mission and it was posted a long time ago. I've never seen it and if you haven't either, then we've been blocked from…"

"From what exactly?" Shun nearly growled. "What else have they been hiding from us?"

"Exactly," Kazuki almost whispered. He handed the phone back to its owner and then gestured his partner to follow him out the door. They didn't speak again until they were outside the headquarters and headed in the direction of their next mission.

"Why would Souma-san permit us to go look for her when he had posted a bounty on her head?" Shun voiced in puzzlement.

"Right," Kazuki agreed. "Souma-san knows we're good at our jobs. Why would he do that? He must have known—…He must have known…"

Shun raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe he was trying to throw us off."

"No, you remember when we went to his office to ask for permission to go outside the territory? He said since the real King had returned, he didn't have the authority to approve a search of that magnitude. He wouldn't be able to make a bounty that high. But that means…"

"Hisui Nagare wants her dead," Shun finished his thought in a low voice. "And Souma-san is trying to stop it."

"That must be why he keeps sending us together on these mundane but totally legit jobs—so we can keep looking but not look suspicious."

Shun nodded to that theory. "So what do we do now?"

"Go to the scene of the rebellion attack first to keep up appearances. Then…"

Shun stuffed his hands in pockets. "We've confirmed she's off-grid like we thought. If she wasn't, Hisui would just track her and send someone to her location. Where could she go where he wouldn't be able to easily detect her?"

Kazuki looked at him as a lightbulb went off in his brain. "When Souma-san brought Azami home that night, she was dressed like an escort. So we need to find out who her handler was. That could tell us where she'd go to hide out. And since searching our database might set off an alert or something, we can't do that. We'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

"Who's the worst underworld contact we have?" Shun wondered aloud.

* * *

Despite Fushimi's vague assertion that they needed to return to EDGE, there was really nothing for the two to accomplish in that neighborhood. After riding the opposite train back to the club's vicinity, he led Hotaru away from it. A few blocks later, they came to the Scepter 4's "company" sports car. He had been forced to leave it behind because it was inconvenient to follow Kenji who was on foot.

Hotaru seemed excited by the prospect, whether that be the nature of the car, or simply to be off her feet. She didn't inquire into Fushimi's driving ability; all members of the blue clan were expected to be certified for a wide variety of vehicles, after all. The first unusual thing was when he pulled into an alley in Shizume City.

"Isn't this a little close to _that place?_ " She couldn't help but ask.

Knowing she was referring to the bar HOMRA, he hardly glanced at her, simply walking over to a wooden light pole while the car idled at the street's mouth. There, a flyer had been posted with very little writing, scrawled in sloppy handwriting.

"FS 14h00"

Fushimi had pinned the sheet of paper there the night before, on his way to Club EDGE, in hopes of contacting an information broker Scepter 4 occasionally asked him to reach out to. Conveniently, the man had seen the request and written his coded response.

"XL"

Removing the message from the pole, he crumpled it and tossed it behind the driver's seat as he climbed back into the car. Dropping the transmission into reverse, he backed into the street for a drive of only a few blocks. This time, he parked the car properly and shut off the engine at a clothing store specifically for larger men.

"Stay in the car," he grumbled, leaning over into the doorway briefly as he exited.

"As if!" She spat back and scrambled to get out before he locked the doors on her.

They stationed themselves on opposite sides of the street behind the store, and Fushimi glanced periodically at the time on his phone. Their arrival had only been a few minutes early, but the interim passed unrealistically slow. It must have been Hotaru's prying gaze trying to piece together what he was up to now distorting the time continuum. He felt it warp and stretch around him with rapidly rising heat.

He slumped against the wall of the store, and the vertigo subsided minimally. It was probably because he hadn't been sleeping much, but he still felt like blaming the female. She was using all her peers of deduction and scientific methods to discover his true objective. Sooner or later he'd have to admit he couldn't keep it secret from her.

Finally, the contact they had been waiting for arrived, bundled in a poplin raincoat, with a disposable cup of hot chocolate and a donut. Fushimi didn't waste time with greetings.

"You're late."

The newcomer shrugged, never taking much seriously. "I had a midday meet with metro. They treat me better than you do, y'know? You're lucky I bother to squeeze you in."

"I'm sure you're busy," Fushimi allowed with an unsympathetic formalism.

"Word is: your entire jurisdiction is endangered by a handful of rebels. Is that what this is about?"

"Something like that," Fushimi replied. The assumption was not unreasonable. In fact, Hotaru herself expected more of an affirmation. Instead, she quickly realized when Fushimi said "something like that" it was really nothing at all like what was suggested. But if that was so, what was he working on that was unrelated to the rebellion?

"I need to know what to expect if I go after someone like Torou."

The broker sought confirmation, "'Someone _like_ Torou'? Or Torou?"

"Torou."

For a moment the man was simply baffled at such an absurd ambition. Glancing back and forth between the two blue clansmen, he gradually came to a disturbing conclusion. They were out of uniform; he had said, _I go after..._

"You're not on official business, are you?"

Fushimi neither agreed nor denied. "Tch. Just tell me all you know."

"Wait, _you_ haven't heard of Torou?" The broker questioned in shock as he clutched his steaming cup of chocolate. "Torou from Ichiban? You want to go after him, and you don't even know him?" Then he mumbled to himself in understanding, "Clearly, no one who knew anything would start that losing battle."

Ignoring his commentary, Fushimi repeated in surprise, "Ichiban." That syndicate had been a major presence in Shizume and other districts of Tokyo for over a decade, probably close to his whole life. But then, why was he not familiar with the codename from his days in Homra?

"There definitely wasn't anyone like that running the streets for Ichiban in Shizume," he eventually mentioned ambiguously.

"Running the streets? Definitely not! He's more like a 'Human Resources Manager.' Y'know, like behind the scenes."

Understanding, but not moved to declare as much, he kept his gaze fixed on the familiar contact. "You haven't answered my question."

"Oh but I have!" The man contradicted. "A guy of that caliber, you can't just walk in and talk to without getting an introduction first."

"That's my concern and not yours," Fushimi snipped.

"Alright, then what _did_ you mean by 'what should I expect?'" The man demanded, feeling the stress of a type of question Scepter 4 had never asked him before.

"What this guy looks like might be helpful," Hotaru added her opinion.

"Is that what you want?" The informant laughed and almost spilled his chocolate. "If you're asking questions like that, there's no way you'll make it in and out alive."

Fushimi shot the girl a glare for ruining his credibility and replied blandly, "Ignore her. That's what I do. I'm looking for someone I know who disappeared after having been in this vicinity. My resources tell me Torou is involved. You can either help or not; doesn't matter."

The man sobered up at that, and inquired, "Who went missing?"

In a businesslike manner that betrayed none of his personal concern, Fushimi described, "An injured girl HOMRA was looking after."

"Wait, she disappeared from HOMRA, and you Blues are going after her? Plus Ichiban." He enumerated on his fingers as he began to pace, "Vigilantes, Special Police Forces, the Yakuza, and all for the sake of one girl? Sounds like the plot of the kind of movie where the informant dies. What's in it for me?"

"Same as always. We turn a blind eye to your shady bank accounts."

The man scratched his forehead. "You government type talk all righteous and lofty when it's blackmail all the same."

Fushimi scoffed, thinking to himself it was a depiction that suited Munakata, and shrugged, "Never said we were the good guys. Besides, aren't you the one always bringing _me_ something or another that I didn't want to begin with?"

"Metro Police gives me hot cocoa for my trouble, and you guys expect treats from me," he complained, but all the same he tossed a package of powdered, cake donuts to the agent he had bought it for.

Fushimi caught the package easily and wrinkled up his nose at the gift.

Then the information exchange began for real. "There have been a couple ladies hanging out around that bar lately. That one who used to date one of their members, the one who died. What was his name?...Totsuka. It wasn't her who disappeared was it?"

"No. Not her."

"The other one, then? Yeah, I could see that. She showed up looking like she'd been in a wreck right about the time word hit the street that two former runners for Ichiban dumped a massive load into the ocean when they ran off the road. Did they say 'former'? Now I don't remember, but in any case that's the one you're looking for? Hayashi, Azami."

Confident in his deduction, he didn't wait for confirmation, "No I definitely think you should not talk to Torou right now. He's pissed about a girl he hasn't seen in five years screwing him over like that."

"She was an innocent bystander. Do her a favor and spread _that_ around."

"I thought you didn't like owing anyone favors."

Momentarily embarrassed, Fushimi answered, "This one time, I'll make sure you don't die."

He broke out in laughter, guffawing like a jolly old man. He had dealt with Fushimi enough times to recognize that rare, dry humor. Fushimi, for his part, was not amused by the outburst and started to walk back toward the car. Once he got ahold of himself again, the informant stopped him to offer one last tidbit.

"Fushimi, when you get to that part of town, take tonight to do some recon. Make a few contacts in the area. Build a reputation. Tomorrow night there's an invitation-only dance party for some of the biggest names in Tokyo. Torou will be there, if you can find a way in."

That was valuable information, and even Fushimi wasn't so cold-hearted that he would go without saying so. As he walked by, therefore, he slipped a handful of cash into the front pocket of his unbuttoned shirt. "For your shady bank account," he whispered in a way that Hotaru had neither seen nor heard.

Once back in the car, Hotaru pulled up the Scepter 4 database on her phone and ran a search on this "Hayashi, Azami." Ultimately, it seemed that was the person he was going through all this trouble for. Who was this girl that was so important to him?

The reports were somewhat redacted, but extensive nonetheless. Hayashi was a registered member of the green clan. Considering their nature of granting temporary powers to basically anyone with a certain rank on their app, few clansmen were actually registered. Those who were were high level, U-rank or above. She was known to both wreak havoc on Scepter 4 missions and contribute to their success depending on how it benefited her own clan's agenda.

As for a connection between the girl and Fushimi, she skimmed through the records. There was an incident report about ten months prior regarding a security breech and destruction of property at an arcade. All the facts were there but presented in Fushimi's typical, non-incriminating way. If she had to base it off of his vague verbal responses thus far, she would say there was more to the incident than the average scuffle that tended to happen when members of three clans and a strain are all in one building, and there was more to this search than what he was letting on.

Suspecting she wouldn't find the connection contained within official documents, Hotaru asked aloud, "Who is Hayashi?"

Having seen what she was doing on her PDA while driving, Fushimi pointed to the device. "That's her."

"Yes, but who is she _to you?_ " She specified.

His voice lowered to a quiet grumble, "Just an idiot who's in trouble."

That didn't sound like a complete answer. Belonging to a king, wasn't it her own clan who should protect her in case of some trouble? Why would Fushimi, a guy who hated everyone, go out of his way to help 'an idiot in trouble' unless he was ordered to? But if he had received orders, Munakata wouldn't have questioned his actions or asked her to look in on him.

"Right now there are dozens of enabled persons at risk because of a massive uprising that you're supposed to lead the squad against, and you want me to believe you'd cast all that aside for one Green clanswoman who got in trouble with a drug dealer? She's obviously important to you somehow."

Seeing as she had provided a potential answer to her own question, Fushimi replied, "Whatever you say." Inside, the word 'important' resonated in an unpleasant voice while a bitter knot tied up his gut. _Hoh hoh, my little monkey found something important to him. That's so cute, I almost feel sick._

Fushimi tried to shake away the mockery of a man who no longer existed and scoff at the assertions of a person he hardly knew with aggressive driving. Shifting up a gear, he began more rapidly slipping in and out of gaps between tightly packed vehicles. It wasn't like Hayashi was particularly important or anything; she was just an idiot he knew. _Just an idiot._

If he could convince himself, _that man_ would stop reminding him of how easily it would all break. _That look of disapproval she gives you whenever she catches a glimpse of who you really are. She won't stick around, so why are you chasing her so hard? She obviously wants you to stay away from her, like a wild animal. Haha, like one of those monkeys with fangs..._

He mustered a response, _You don't know that; you never even met her._

 _Sure I did!_ The voice singsonged his disagreement. _I'm all in your imagination, after all. She's been in here more than once._

Fushimi slammed hard on the brakes at a red light, stopping just in time. Unlike others who may have assumed he was merely acting like an asshole, Hotaru could see she had said something to distress him. She didn't know what - maybe that he had abandoned his duty, or maybe something else - but she gave him some space until the silence became unbearably awkward.

"Well if you refuse to talk to me, can we at least listen to the radio?" She asked, as politely as passive aggressive could be.

He glared at the girl scrutinizingly like the answer could be found somewhere in the pores on her face. Because they were currently immobile, the examination lasted longer than it ordinarily should have between a driver and his passenger. When the light changed to green, he shifted out of neutral and answered curtly like normal.

"No."

Hotaru puffed out her cheeks in exasperation. "And why not?"

"I don't like your taste in music."

"What! You don't even know-" She stopped abruptly, scolding herself for letting him get her so worked up. She could be the bigger person if that's what it took for him to share information. Taking a deep breath for calm, she tried a different approach. "You can choose the station, then."

That concession earned her another glance, but he had to turn his attention right back to traffic. If she was trying to make a new friend, she was asking the wrong guy. Besides, she was asking about music. He had never cared much for what played on mainstream radio, and thinking of songs he "preferred to listen to"...well they were all attached to a certain type of memory he didn't want to dwell on.

Rather than bother with _that_ explanation, he yielded noncommittally, "Do whatever you want."

Even knowing his opinion, Hotaru went ahead and turned on the radio. She scanned through the stations for awhile without finding anything particularly appealing. Eventually she settled on some generic channel that played mostly American songs and spoke a new concern over the music.

"When are we going to eat? I missed breakfast and lunch and am pretty hungry."

Instead of answering her question, he reached into the center cupholder and flung the cake donuts onto her lap.

"No, food Fushimi. Real food, not this junk," she insisted.

Since she was obviously going to keep talking, Fushimi turned down the volume while muttering, "How bothersome." Even so, he assured, "We're going to Sakuraya next anyway, so..."

He drifted off without finishing the thought, but Hotaru jumped right in, "Oh, well in that case, I have no complaints."

Sakuraya wasn't so much a single establishment as it was an entire shopping district. Once upon a time, the building with its huge letters had been a widely recognized shop. When the store sold off to some other company, the name remained a landmark many natives used to orient themselves. The area was not far from high-class, tourist destinations, but unlike those places well cared for by their continuous profits, Sakuraya was the run-down backside where locals went for good deals.

Fushimi stopped the car on an upper level of a shady parking garage near both the metro station and the shopping center. When faced with the options of descending several flights of stairs with his own legs or risking his life in the rickety elevator, he snarled in disgust. Every possible negative outcome rushed to mind, everywhere from being stuck in the shaft for hours, to the potential diseases whose germs might be found on the railings.

In the end, laziness inclined him toward the elevator. Hotaru strongly disagreed with this decision but said nothing. By her calculations, the stairs were obviously the lesser of the two evils. She certainly wasn't going to descend them alone, however, and she managed to convince herself that it was so he wouldn't give her the slip rather than from fear of being mugged in a stairwell.

It rattled and creaked on the shaky way down. Somehow, they reached ground level, though. The doors lagged just long enough to cause concern and then opened to the overbearing ruckus of the busy street. Lucky for Hotaru, where people went, food was also. The particular shop Fushimi had his eye on was kiddie-corner from a franchise cafe.

She didn't waste time in pointing it out to him with a little nudge of his arm. "Hey, look. That bakery's storefront has a clear view of the street. If we sit at the window to eat, no one would suspect us of anything."

Sidestepping her, Fushimi glared at the hand which had touched him, but he couldn't deny the soundness of her suggestion. With an annoyed flick of the tongue, he grumbled, "You just had to sneak food in there somehow, didn't you?"

Recoiling from her careless gesture, she slid her hands inside hidden pockets of her sweater. Still, she chided as they joined a crowd at a crosswalk. "By this point, you've gotta be pretty hungry too, right? It's almost dinner time."

"Hadn't even thought of it," he replied, coldly putting an end to what had nearly become a conversation.

When, at last, they reached the front of the line, Hotaru ordered a full combo: tonkatsu sandwich with the cabbage, a side of fries, and a drink. Fushimi, on the other hand, asked only for the sugar croissant.

"Seriously Fushimi, that's all?" Hotaru prodded, "Get a real meal, no expenses barred. I'll buy it."

The checker behind the counter glanced at him in anticipation, as if asking, _well are you going to order more?_

Fushimi brushed away the idea. "It's none of her concern what I eat."

Slapping a few bills into the hand of the cashier, he took his croissant over to a stool by the front window. He ripped one mouthful of flaky pastry from the end and nibbled on it while keeping his eyes on the street corner. Hotaru followed behind shortly and immediately reprimanded his choice of dinner.

"I don't see how you intend to keep your energy up like that. You've got nothing but carbohydrates, which will burn out rapidly. You need to eat protein if you plan on staying out into the night again."

He ignored her lecture, instead shoving aside his bread and grabbing a napkin. "Pen," he stated abruptly, holding out a hand in expectation.

"Huh?" She asked, surprised at the interruption. Once his demand registered, she moaned in frustration. It was like he considered her purpose for existing was only to serve him, else get out of the way. For some reason, she still reached into her purse and provided the tool he needed.

Snatching it up, he began scribbling on the improvised paper, drawing X's and making circles. He would look up at the street and then add more to the note. It looked like it was becoming a map.

A map of loiterers, non-shoppers, and people who suspiciously appeared to be in the market for the wrong type of merchandise. He was developing a game plan.

* * *

"Either somethin' got slipped into my drink at lunch or I'm lookin' at an apparition!" The man who spoke whipped his sunglasses from his face and hooked them into his shirt pocket as if he needed them removed to reassure himself of his impression.

Azami was proud of herself for the smile she managed to give him. "Nope, in the flesh. Hey, Eijiro."

"Hayashi, Azami—I'll be damned!" he laughed at the irony of seeing her again, but he seemed to be somewhat genuine about his happiness so she allowed him to give her shoulders a familiar squeeze in welcome. "How ya been, girl? What're ya doin' in our world?"

She took him in, a bit surprised at how he hadn't seemed to change these past few years and even more taken aback by how she still felt comfortable in his presence even with no drugs in her system. Eijiro was a taller guy, probably about the same height as Fushimi, though he was built more like a brawler—broad shoulders, thick chest and strong legs which he still kept packed in a short-sleeved dress shirt with the front untucked from nicely fit black dress pants. Rumor had it that he actually had been a bouncer who got busted up too many times before he decided he'd rather get into the business of what was being sold at the club he worked for. That was evidenced by the impressive scar that carved a track down the right side of his face from his brow to his jaw and then curved a couple inches toward his chin. His greased black hair haphazardly parted off to the same side did little to hide it.

"Looking for work," she replied with a straight face.

Eijiro hadn't been one for fame and glory, but just wanted to live a comfortable life so instead of fighting his way to the top of the business, he contented himself with being a middle-man between the big bosses and the consumers. Azami had used him as a safe zone more than once, sort of like a halfway house where she could cool down between gigs. Along with his kindness in that regard, and although he never forced her into anything, he always provided work options if she wanted them.

However, now he released a laugh at her suggestion. "Yeah, and I'm makin' brownies for the school bake sale." He was baking brownies, alright, among other things, none of which could be sold at your everyday school function, of that much she was sure. Still he continued on in his casual conversation, as if trying to catch up with an old friend. "No really, how ya been? I've been hearin' some crazy shit."

Azami backed up a bit to where she could get a good look at his face. "What shit?"

"You know you can't lie to me, right kid? You been workin' with the other side now? Playin' reporter for the media and the men in blue?"

Ah, so that's what he was prying about—trying to figure out if she was spying on his operation. "Look." She waved a hand dismissively at his inquiries and reassured him, "I've got some connections, but with the stains on my record, I'd rather stay out of their radar right now."

"Stains, yeah…" he muttered, itching absently at his scar. "Word 'round here is you were there when Sato lost his shipment."

Azami frowned and jabbed a finger in his direction to pontificate her words when she said, "Let's get this straight right now. I had nothing to do with that. That's what he gets for letting Kenji drive when he's flying high, the dumb bastard. Those matters aside, Sato isn't my worst fear. The guys I'm actually trying to disappear from make him seem like a kitten in a tree."

"So you're in with those kinds of circles now, huh?"

"Not by choice," she admitted a tad begrudgingly and then entreated him again, "Come on, Eijiro, you can use me, right? I'm smart, I'm tough, my thinking is clear this time…and you do kinda still owe me for taking the cops off your back that time…"

He studied her a moment, stroking his upper lip in thought as he took in the sly smirk on her face, the intelligence shining in her eyes unclouded by drugs, the bold color and style of her hair worn in confidence. The girl he had hired on occasion years ago had been useful, but in an eagerness-of-youth and stupid-with-desperation kind of way. This Azami was a grown woman with a mature outlook on the world they both lived in, which could still be useful, but also dangerous.

"You're right, I do owe ya one. Tell ya what—come work in the club for me 'n' I'll watch _your_ back this time."

Azami was a little deterred by the offer, but only in her gut and not on her face. She was hoping he would use her to spy out his competition, a bouncer, or at least just be in charge of counting the money for each evening—something she could do in the background without getting too deep in the business again. She supposed she might be able to negotiate with this, though.

"Alright, but if I do that for you, I do it my way. I'm old enough to serve booze now—not that legal age ever really mattered to you, but for the sake of principle, there it is. I serve and that's it. I don't deal, I don't dance, I don't entertain, and I wear what I want. If you can live with that then I keep the high-roller's hands full and your cash flow goes up."

Eijiro fingered his lip again as he considered her proposition, envisioning her in his environment and determining if what she said could really fit the bill. Well, what could be the harm in trying it for a few nights and seeing how it went? Business had been good lately.

Eventually he conceded, "You're right, you _are_ a lot smarter when your head is on straight. Ya drive a good bargain, but I think I can fill that one. Junko will like the company. Ya remember Junko, right?"

* * *

 _ **Well look who finally showed herself again! Hello Azami! Btw, the internet actually says Sakuraya is the place to go to buy drugs. This is a realistically accurate story! Also that random information broker is cannon. He's from Blue That Melts in a City of Red.**_


	25. Introducing Ichiban

**_Well here it ! hope it has been worth the wait_**

* * *

"I was wondering if you'd ever come back to visit me, handsome," purred the brunette haired woman in a massive fur coat leaning against the corner of a dirty brick apartment building.

Shun kept several fair-sized paces behind Kazuki and eyed the female warily while the taller boy stuck his hand out in greeting, "Cheri, yeah it's been a while."

The woman snapped her gum loudly as she gave his would-be handshake a stare that was less than impressed. "Really? A handshake is all I get? I think I deserve more than that."

Shun glared at the sheer amount of liberty she took in bringing herself in for a hug that left his skin crawling—and it wasn't even happening to him. Kazuki uttered a mildly surprised "Oh, alright…" at the gesture, but remained mostly unfazed, as if this sort of thing happened every time he met up with this person. It was a good thing Kazuki only had eyes for his wife or this day could have a very unhappy ending with Shun caught in the middle.

Cheri wound her arms around Kazuki's bicep and hugged it to her chest as she ushered him into a casual stroll down the neighborhood sidewalk. "Who should I thank for sending you my way?"

"We're looking into the disappearance of a young girl from these parts a couple years ago," Kazuki answered in his typical investigator tone.

"You're doing stories on the projects now? You must be really hard up for some gossip. Is the job slowing down for you? You could always come work for me. I've got connections."

"Yeah, we know," Shun uttered gruffly from behind them.

Cheri gave him a dirty look while Kazuki threw him a reassuring grin over his shoulder and then told the woman, "We want you to use those connections to help us investigate. On the down-low, you know?"

"Boy, no one gives a damn about what happened to a hooker," Cheri remarked with a derisive trill in her voice that could have been a chuckle of sorts.

"I do," Kazuki contradicted her simply.

She raised her eyebrows at him in surprise, so much so that they almost disappeared under her bangs. Then slowly, she acquiesced, "Alright, if that's what you want, then who am I to argue with the paparazzi? Down-low is what I do, after all. You're gonna have to narrow your search, though. They're not exactly in short supply around here."

"She was young, probably around 16; typical looks: black hair, brown eyes; really athletic—she excelled in parkour."

"Oh…" Cheri sighed and her eyes took on an almost sad expression, which shocked the hell out of Shun. "You're talking about Hayashi, Azami."

"You knew her? Was she one of yours?" Kazuki prodded further.

"No, no," the woman replied. "I only accept girls of age of consent in my circle. They're old enough to make the decision to wreck themselves with this life. Hayashi didn't have that choice; it was necessary for her survival, so she said. Damn shame what happened to her, though. She didn't deserve what she got."

"So you did know her," Shun stated, trying not to let the twisting in his gut come through.

"Knew of," Cheri clarified. "Not personally, though we did speak a couple times. We all called her Mel-chan 'cause she was so young, looked all small and unassuming."

"Mel-chan?" Shun repeated, unfamiliar with the meaning of such a name.

"It's the name of a doll," Kazuki explained to him, trying his hardest not to let the connection form between this instance and the toy that his own newly born daughter possessed. "You mean she had an innocent baby face."

Cheri nodded. "She could really turn tricks, though—people liked her, had a lot of clients. Almost as many as me. Those were the days before I started my own show."

Before you became an amateur mistress, Shun scowled but kept his lips pressed tightly shut.

"Do you know who her handler was?" Kazuki inquired with a pat to her hand to bring her back to the present.

"Sure I do—it was Yukio."

"Where is he now?" Shun asked, hoping to end this encounter as soon as possible.

"Dead."

Kazuki stopped short and turned to look at her. "Dead?"

"Yeah, killed by a cop," Cheri confirmed with a nod, nudging him into a walk again. "He was packaging his product for distribution when the cops kicked down his door. He panicked and shot the first guy so that guy's partner shot him. It was a fluke, but lots of us think it was a setup by his competition to bump him off."

"Who was his competition?"

Cheri scoffed. "Tch, the same ones who are trying to take over everything these days—Ichiban."

Kazuki looked at Shun over his shoulder again, this time with outright worry and fear plain on his face.

Cheri didn't seem to notice the exchange and instead voiced a closing thought that had been floating in her head. "Hayashi, though…She didn't just go missing one day. I heard someone came along and took her home—saved her this time. If only we all could be so lucky…"

* * *

As night fell on Sakuraya, the type of people on its streets transformed. Poor mothers and school dropouts gave way to a party crowd. These were not the high class party goers one might find hanging around pop stars, actors, or billionaires. It was an entirely different caliber of people with their own definition of nightlife.

Hotaru found herself unwittingly taking a step closer to Fushimi. Somehow her dislike for the person was outweighed by the trust that he'd save her life in a true emergency. In turn, he stepped away from her, personal space trumping any obligation he felt toward the fellow clansman. Still, he fingered one of the blades up his sleeve, sure to keep on high alert. Between strains, gangs, and the homeless, quick reflexes had to be backed up by attentive suspicion.

Fushimi's first target was a man in his late twenties whose life had aged him closer to his fifties. He had sat on the street all evening in frayed pants and an oversized jacket, holding a sign with his mostly-gloved hands. The homeless in the city were well fed in the shelters, if they so chose; therefore, the money they begged for was for other purposes. Recently, the Metro Police Department had decided to kick them out of the nearby park, leaving them in the middle of everyone's path. Women in tight skirts sidestepped the area while giggling amongst themselves. Men ushered their dates away with obvious displeasure.

That was the precise reason Fushimi sought him out. He nudged the man's thigh with the toe of his shoe. In the crisp, night air he had fallen briefly asleep, huddled against a wall, but considering all the time he spent in that exact spot, he likely knew everything that happened on that block.

Probably accustomed to careless bumps from passersby, the man stirred on the concrete but didn't wake until Fushimi kicked him a little harder, despite Hotaru's protest. Fushimi stood back, keeping his hands in his pockets as if avoiding direct contact with a contagious disease, while the man rolled over, grumbling in an intoxicated slur.

When he caught his first glimpse of the young man hovering over him from a distance, he presumed it was just another rich kid with a complex about proving his worth through bullying.

It came as a surprise to him, therefore, when the person kicking him offered him money. "Your eyes are everywhere, right? Name your price."

He chuckled, which seemed more like a cough. "Depends on what you want to ask."

"I'm looking to make a connection."

That raised the man's suspicions even higher than before. "What makes you think I'd know that?" He must have been thinking Fushimi might be a cop on some sort of undercover sting mission. That wouldn't be entirely incorrect.

He had to make himself seem more authentic. The image of Kory in the Scepter 4 lockup came to mind. His electronics withdrawals had been quite intense. Maybe desperation was what this man needed to see to be forthcoming.

He started to scratch his arm through his jacket and to tap a foot rapidly. "Come on man. I just came in from out of town, so I need to find a new supplier. I heard this is the area, but I don't know who to look for. You can help me out, can't you?"

Sufficiently convinced, the homeless man was mildly sympathetic to his invented plight. He held out a hand for the promised bribe. Fushimi forked over a 500¥ bill, which he accepted with disdain at the amount.

Reluctantly he asked, "What's your poison?"

Looking around with feigned paranoia, Fushimi lowered his voice to inquire, "Know anyone who sells good cola?"

"Well, in that case, stay away from the Arabs on the corner. The cops watch them constantly, and all they have is tea."

The information was valid, but highly lacking. It had revealed who not to ask rather than who to ask. To Fushimi's expectant stare, the homeless man straightforwardly indicated he required further payment for more precise answers with an outstretched hand. Scoffing, Fushimi slapped in another 500.

"They hang around back by a maintenance entrance to an old part of the subway that's been closed off for years."

Fushimi nodded once and walked away, Hotaru uttering an ashamed, "Thanks," before she followed.

"Stingy bastards!" The man called after them for his meager earning, and Fushimi grumbled back, "Greedy vagrant."

The female accompanying him understood that the two had not been discussing beverages. Those had merely been code words. She knew the type of 'business' Ichiban did. At every turn, it seemed more and more that her report to the captain would be an unfavorable one.

The turn was literal. After walking up the street, past the loitering Arabs, pushing roughly through a crowd of peddlers trying to force advertisement cards on them, Fushimi turned into a tree-filled area. Around a couple flower beds was a staircase that led down into a shabby alley. On one side was a cobblestoned elevation where the metro line ran behind a chain link fence. On the other was a series of delivery doors, all of which were covered in intricate graffiti.

It was even more concerning to the scientist that her superior officer appeared to know exactly what the vagabond meant by, "around back."

He glanced along the bubbly writing as if he understood the language that was entirely foreign to her. He didn't comment on any of it, however, making his way silently down the alley. At the specified entrance to the abandoned maintenance tunnel, which more closely resembled a shed sticking out from the stone wall of the tracks, three men stood. To an untrained eye they gave off the appearance of ordinary, delinquent idlers, avoiding returning to their respective, unhappy homes.

For his part, Fushimi saw past their carefree demeanor to a deeper, intimidating guard stance. He saw the unmistakable shape of a handgun under each of their shirt hems. Their job was to keep curious kids from walking in on business uninvited. It would be unwise to approach them flat out.

Knowing they wouldn't take kindly to questions about their boss and that he wouldn't beat all three without the use of his powers, Fushimi turned about on a heel. Even so, the departure did not seem to be one of retreat, as he still had, a new, precise destination in mind. Past the staircase they had descended, the alley crossed a minor street before continuing beneath an overpass.

There sat swarthy man, skin unusually taut and with a sheen of sweat inappropriate for the cold, November night, who had been deemed unimportant when they first crossed his path. Now, Fushimi joined him under the bridge, looking down at his pitiful state in contempt as he desperately tried to collect a mere film of white powder from discarded plastic sacks.

The man looked up with dazed, wild eyes, startled after a delay of quite some time. He tried to stand and run, likely thinking the disapproving youth presented some threat to him. It was possible, if not in the way he anticipated. Fushimi stretched out a lazy foot to catch the druggy's step and shoved him by the shoulder back onto the concrete.

Hotaru had hesitated, hanging behind in fear, which prevented her from hearing the exchange that took place under the bridge when a rickety train passed by.

With no formality, Fushimi demanded, "Where'd you get that?"

The man blubbered unintelligibly, afraid to answer and to refrain.

Fushimi repeated with more conviction, "Where do you get that?"

He raised a finger to the three men down the road. This was an answer he already knew. He had only asked because it led seamlessly into the next command.

"Introduce me."

The man stumbled to his feet, brain moving too slowly for decent agility. After persistent urging, he led the way down the alley.

"Well, here's a new look," one of the three drawled out mockingly. Even though they all had the identical appearance, like a set of triplets or something, the one with a gnarly scar mangling his upper lip clearly stood out as their leader. "Didn't we just tell you to buzz off? That doesn't mean come back with some ivy league kids."

The loafer from under the bridge attempted a stuttered explanation, but the second one - with a disfigured brow that made one eye sag - interrupted his ineffective words, "No freebies."

Fushimi decided that was enough chitchat. "If you don't mind, spare me your petty dispute. I'm here to see Torou."

"Sorry, this area's off limits," the first forbid with an authoritative tone.

"Are you sure you don't want to reword that? 'Off limits' to the likes of him, so why don't you give him something for his trouble and send him away. Our business is private, after all."

"Who are you to give us orders?" The lazy eyed triplet scoffed.

"An envoy from your distributor."

"How come we've never seen ya before?" The third spoke with a dense voice that reminded Fushimi of a certain food-loving oaf that followed Misaki around. This one seemed to have had a bullet graze the side of his head, taking off the top of one ear.

"There haven't been any incidents severely impacting our supply...until now."

"We assured you we are doing everything we can to make up for the loss in a timely fashion."

"We aren't assured."

"By 'we,' you mean you and her?" Gnarly Lip gestured to Hotaru who stood quietly to the side with her arms crossed and a conceited look on her face.

Before Fushimi could contradict the assumption, Dog Ear guffawed, "Who is she anyway? The boss' daughter?"

No one laughed at his joke, and Lazy Eye elbowed him in the side, hissing, "Shut up. The distributor does have a daughter that age."

Gnarly Lip hummed incitefully. "The boss' daughter with his pet? I suppose that makes you her bitch."

Two of the triplets laughed heartily at that burn while Dog Ear complained, "Hey Bro, how come ya laughed at his joke and not mine?"

A fire sparked through Fushimi's normally dull eyes at the insult, and he grit his teeth to swallow it down.

Seeing an opportunity to seize, Hotaru spoke up, "Well are you going to show us in, or not? Daddy won't be happy to hear you kept us out in the cold so long."

"Whatever you want, Darling," Gnarly Lip conceded. "Unfortunately, Torou isn't here at the moment. I can show you to his assistant in the meantime, but your henchman will have to stay out here."

"He comes with me," she insisted without hesitation. She couldn't handle it all on her own when she hardly knew any of the details of their mission in the first place.

In an instant of vulnerability, Fushimi flashed her a look that could only be described as confusion. Hotaru didn't miss the chance to point it out.

As Dog Ear ushered them down the stairs into Torou's secret base of operations, she whispered to her 'henchman', "What? You didn't expect me to back you up? I may still not know why this green girl is so important to you, but we are clansmates, right?"

Fushimi thought she sounded rather self-righteous for her motivation to be comeraderie, and had she just made up that word? He gave a generic reply, "Oh is that why?"

"Well... Also because the captain would kill me if anything happens to you."

To that, all she received was a click of the tongue.

The guard accompanying them led them through a main room, dimly lit by a single, fluorescent bulb. The air was stagnant and chilly. In the background droned a dehumidifier. The conditions were ideal for the activity currently taking place. Several more gang members were circled around a table, measuring out and weighing sections of their mounds of white powder.

All of the members wore, in some way or another the symbol for 1, a single horizontal line, representing their allegiance to Ichiban. Some had it permanently engraved on their bodies as a tattoo; others wore it upon their clothes or as a pendant on a gold chain. Even their handles contained the simple emblem. Torou, for example, designed his graffiti with the extended katakana, "ト口ー ."

Dog Ear prevented them from lingering to observe, urging them into a side room. Four important-looking men were seated there, around a perfectly circle card table. Chips were piled on its felt surface in multiple short towers and one central heap. They were in the middle of a round of standard, American poker when the newcomers interrupted their game.

Three of the men deferred to the one farthest away as if he were the one in charge, and he inquired, "And who might you two be?"

Dog Ear gave the answer for them. "It's the distributor's daughter and fixer."

His face lit up with artificial friendliness. "Welcome Milady. Won't you join us for a round or two?"

On cue, one of the other men at the table vacated his chair and offered it to her. A tension filled the room which was only dispelled when she willingly accepted the non-negotiable offer. The chairless man stepped outside for a moment to acquire a rickety folding chair, while the one in charge called Dog Ear over for a hushed exchange.

Apparently, Fushimi wasn't invited to play. Hotaru would probably embarrass them; whereas, he would have had an actual chance to compete. That was hardly a matter of great importance, however. From where he stood against the wall, he had the perspective of an outsider, which was fine for observing purposes.

Another of the players shared some of his chips with the girl, and she at least knew to contribute an ante to the future jackpot. Then, cards were shuffled and divvied up one at a time. Right away, Fushimi knew something was wrong. They were exchanging secret glances before the cards were even finished being dealt. There was something more than cheating at poker happening.

The five players looked at their individual hands while Dog Ear stared at Fushimi with suspicion. No one was truly paying much attention to their cards, between their unspoken conversation and Hotaru's distrust of the situation. Nor did she put much effort into answering the head's general questions.

Bidding passed once around the table.

On the left side of the head, one player folded.

Fushimi already had three knives in his hand by the time that player reached under the table and pulled out a Micro Uzi. Their plan was to kill the both of them discretely, but the moment had been too telegraphed. Fushimi had already rushed forward and kicked the table over. With one hand he yanked Hotaru behind his makeshift cover while flinging a knife into the forearm of the shooter, disabling the hand that pulls the trigger. The Ichiban members immediately fell back to attack from their own sources of cover.

The girl, finding herself in her first ever, true life-threatening situation, began to ramble. She went on about caliber, aerodynamics of the piercing shape, and air velocity, as if her reaction to facing death was to confound it with calculations.

The first man to dare venture to their side of the table soon had a dagger thrown under his knee cap, and he crumpled like a moaning paper doll before he even got off a single shot.

"This table is made out of 2cm thick oak," Hotaru continued, her response to witnessing the gruesome scene. Then, she seemed to draw a final conclusion out of her factors. "Those bullets will pass right through it!"

"Do you have a better idea, Genius?" Fushimi snapped back, shouting over the sound of gunfire.

She gaped blankly at him for a moment while the upper lip of the table splintered in their faces.

"The sanctum," she suggested. "Use your aura!"

"Not here," Fushimi refused quietly.

There were still three men shooting. They hadn't even got the chance to mention the purpose of their visit. He could kill them all easily. And invoke the wrath of the largest Yakuza in Tokyo? He wasn't afraid of them, but it wasn't time.

The sound of a clip dropping from a handgun reached his ears, and Fushimi ordered, "Get out now!"

Hotaru's response was delayed, so Fushimi grabbed her wrist and dragged her along as he sprinted out the door, towards the stairs. The men quickly followed, Dog Ear shooting at their backs.

"Don't shoot here, Idiot," the leader scolded, ripping the gun from his hand. "You'll scatter the coke."

The two burst into the alley, hand-in-hand, grateful to see Lazy Eye and Gnarly Lip were down a ways, talking to someone in the back of the jewelry store. When they spotted the two runaways, they rushed down the alley after them. Fushimi and Hotaru had enough of a headstart that they were able to disappear in a crowd of people on the platform waiting for the next train.

Fushimi collapsed against a cement pillar while Hotaru leaned on her knees, both gasping for air. Such exertion was foreign to the both of them. The others at the station ignored them, thinking racing was common for young couples. After a moment of panting, the adrenaline got into Hotaru's head and she started laughing in fits between gulps of air.

Her companion raised an eyebrow at her antics, too exhausted to even speak.

She understood his confusion, nonetheless, and answered, "All of that, and we didn't learn a thing about Hayashi."

Fushimi's face transformed into a piercing glare as if offended that a stranger might speak the sacred name.

"Nevermind," she brushed off his grumpy expression. "Thanks for saving m-"

Cutting off her words before they became reality, Fushimi asserted, "It's nothing."

The train arrived, and they climbed on, not with the intention of going anywhere. They merely needed to insure Ichiban didn't have men waiting for them on the platform. They rode the train through its whole route, making sure at every stop that no one else was doing the same as them. When it returned again to the stop closest to Sakuraya, they descended to a safely empty station.

Only then did Hotaru inquire, "So what's the new plan?"

Having had all that time to reflect, Fushimi knew how to answer. "New plan? We're going to need card stock, a printer, and a can of spray paint."

* * *

The club was uncharacteristically quiet for this time of night. The usual rush of customers after quitting time came and went without a hitch—the bar got a good workout, a couple rooms were rented—but once the initial flood had receded, the night felt as if it was crawling by. A few souls were scattered at tables drowning the woes of bad breakups. A mere two dancers provided entertainment for an extremely meager audience; in fact, the other girls had already left with their male customers. This type of evening boded ill for those who lived in the dark; it usually meant something bad was about to go down. Or it could have been because a party of special caliber loomed on the horizon and all the participants were saving themselves for the occasion. Maybe both.

The girl shining the worn top of the bar didn't seem to notice the tension in the air, or perhaps was ignoring it in favor of embracing a calm shift at work. She had already put all of the liquors used earlier back in their proper places and had done the dishes returned thus far so now all that was left was to wipe down the bar. It wasn't as impressive as the one at HOMRA by any means, but using the method she had watched Kusanagi utilize, she had brought a nice shine to the worn surface that gave her a bit of reassurance in this grungy environment.

Junko approached her. "That CEO is back."

Azami smirked a little. "Oh, the one from the men's clothing line who—" She made finger quotations in the air. "—'likes my hair' and leaves me nice tips?"

"No, the one from the bank who likes me and wants to give me 'tips' on 'money investments'."

The Green Girl laughed lightly at his expense and walked around the bar to retrieve a tray from him and the order book. "I'll take care of it."

Junko was a fit guy in his 40's with golden blonde hair flecked with gray—an immigrant from quite a few years back, though Azami didn't know what his place of origin was. Maybe somewhere in Europe or perhaps Hawaii since he certainly wasn't completely Asian (because of his slightly almond-shaped brown eyes, she guessed one parent was Japanese) but, at any rate, he was an exotic find around these parts and he got a lot of attention that he didn't care for. She wasn't aware of his backstory, only that he had been with the club since Eijiro had opened it and had watched her back a few times—tonight included.

Azami wasn't sure what the draw to her was; she wasn't anything special to look at. Maybe it was because, in a place like this, everything was supposed to be fair game and she had labeled herself as 'off limits', a fact she made very clear if questioned. Or maybe it was because she was serving them alcohol and was within arm's reach. Whatever the case, when a table of men wouldn't take no for an answer and started getting grabby, Junko had stepped in to take her place as waiter.

The Green Clanswoman definitely didn't need him to—they both knew fully well that she could make her point on her own. But for the sake of business, this solution was less violent. She could return the favor now.

"What can I get you?" she asked upon reaching the table.

The CEO looked up at her with disappointment at the waiter assigned to his table clear on his face as well as his tone when he ordered shortly, "Gin martini, dry, shaken, straight up."

"Comin' right up."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw three more guys file in and park at a table in between the bar and the dancers so she went to get their orders, too, before putting Junko to work.

"Hey guys, it's happy hour so all beer on tap is half off and there's a discount running on the house wine. Anything I can get you to start?"

They all gave her a once over and the guy closest to her asked with a smirk, "Are you on the menu?"

"Unfortunately for you, I'm not. I'm only here to work the bar. You'll have to talk to the girls dancing tonight about the other menu. Any drinks?"

She hated that those words could come out of her mouth with such apathy when her insides were churning so painfully. She hadn't even been back in these parts that long, but the acquired numb to the effect of a leering eye crept over her with such easy familiarity it was disturbing.

After the slap to their egos which sent them looking toward the entertainment who were more appealingly dressed, the men ordered a round of beverages without quarrel. Azami leaned against the bar with a sigh as she waited for Junko to add the drinks to her tray. If she had to keep telling off the customers, she wouldn't get any tips, and hourly wages for waitresses were crap. Without giving them something to look at, she'd be lucky if they paid the tab and didn't complain to Eijiro about his rude staff.

She didn't want to get in too deep, of course, but the facts were blaringly obvious. She didn't even own underwear that fit this category and no one ever saw those but her so what could she wear? She really wished Eijiro would have made her a bouncer. …Maybe she could fashion something out of spare pieces from old costumes that would be eye-catching, but not make her feel naked.

Wait, what was she thinking? She was supposed to be laying low, not catching attention. Still, how long could she live on the measly income she was getting? How long was she even going to have to survive down here?

"Got a bit on your mind, kid?" the bartender inquired while he loaded the drinks onto her tray.

"What gave me away?" Azami laughed softly, not feeling the usual happiness behind it. "The intelligence and critical thinking in my eyes?"

"I could see the smoke coming out of your ears."

With a grin holding a little more genuine emotion, Azami lifted the order and replied, "It's nothing. Thanks, though, Junko, you really know how to make a girl feel better about herself."

She delivered the martini to the gloomy CEO first and then went to the table of men. Once she had set everything in its place she hung by a minute longer to see if they had any additional requests. It was during that time that the door to the establishment banged open and a man in a crisp, white suit accompanied by an entourage swept into the establishment. Instantly, the Green Girl knew who had made such a grand entrance and she ducked beside the table to keep out of sight.

Because of the ruckus at the door, Eijiro emerged from his office that sat behind the scenes at the front of the building and, upon seeing who had graced his club with their presence, glanced over his employees in sight and then greeted the man kindly.

"Sato-san, it's good to see ya! To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I think we have something to discuss, Eijiro," the leader of Ichiban stated in a voice calm and dark like the amber liquids lining the shelves at the back of the club.

Azami pressed her back against a leg of the table and moved her head barely enough so that she could peek out. From where the yakuza men stood, they couldn't see her—Eijiro kept cloths on the tables since it made it much easier to clean up messes of all kinds and this luckily obscured her from view. If the men decided to wander the club, however, they'd spot her for sure. She was beginning to feel very trapped.

The patrons sitting around her said nothing of her behavior, probably assuming she was as afraid of this particular yakuza as the rest of them. In fact, the lead man who had hit on her minutes before then suggested to the others, "I think we should take our drinks and go enjoy the nightlife, eh, boys?"

The moping CEO followed shortly after, deciding to try to catch the bartender's eye on another night rather than risking getting in the middle of yakuza business. Junko stood his ground at his position behind the counter, appearing to go about his daily business while ignoring the meeting, even though that wasn't the case at all. The dancers continued with their moves, whether too desperate to care or knowing how well Ichiban tipped when in a good mood, it didn't matter. Azami quickly banished all mental flashes of bikini tops and short bodycon dresses hiked even higher to accommodate a seat in someone's lap; she needed to focus on a way out.

"Ah, hell, I didn't forget my payment again, did I?" Eijiro pondered aloud, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sato didn't buy into his attempted misdirection. "I've heard rumors that you have a new employee."

"Oh yeah," the owner of the club agreed. "Ai is a real bombshell. Ya need somebody for yer next deal?"

Sato waved off that notion with a flip of his hand and clarified, "One who sounds very similar to the one I need to question about the loss of my shipment."

The yakuza boss was facing away from the girl in hiding as he spoke to Eijiro and the dancers were providing a perfect distraction for the henchmen; Azami knew now would be the time to move. Apparently, Junko had the same thought because he caught her eye just briefly and then scooted two liquor bottles to one end of the bar. That was a good signal that the coast was clear for the moment and she now had a straight shot to him. With stealthy footfalls, she sprinted the short space and vaulted between two bar stools, slid silently across the countertop, and landed behind cover with only a second to spare.

"Come on, look around," Eijiro drawled with an easy smile. "Business is slow 'n' I'm short-staffed. Ya think I could hire just anybody?"

Sato cast his eyes half-heartedly around the space and then back to the owner, entirely unconvinced.

"And besides," the other male added. "Ya know I love this place too much t' risk it in yakuza conflicts."

"Yes," Sato hummed. "But I also know how you love to take in pitiful strays. Thanks for the offer. We'll have a look around."

Eijiro, you moron! Azami shouted in her head as the footsteps dispersed throughout the club, the men they belonged to looking in doorways and under tables. Though Junko stood firm beside her, it was only a matter of time before the armed men looked behind the bar. She could hide in a low cupboard if one of them was empty, but now was not the time to be checking. They might even look there, too. And what would happen when they found her? If they didn't kill her right away, they may decide to collect payment from her some other way.

The smile on her face wasn't the only thing that was fake, she thought cynically toward the eyes taking in the cleavage created by a small packet of white powder hidden in each cup of her bra.

…her position during the meeting was on the lap of the youngest up and coming yakuza boss…

Brown eyes opened to a pounding head resting on a bed in an unknown location…

Her heart was beginning to thump so hard it hurt her chest, and her normally controlled breathing was coming in short gasps. She needed to get out of sight, but there was nowhere she could hide. She was trapped and had no options. She really wished she was someone else right now…

Well…she could be someone else. Her head cleared a bit, and she assessed her environment. If there were any cameras in this part of the city, they were mostly there as a deterrent, not as functional security. Any cell phones in the area were used mainly for corrupt business and thus likely encrypted. If Hisui, Nagare was trying to track her by her powers, he'd have a hell of a time locating her here. That was why she had come to this place, after all.

Skirting the cupboards, she reached the end of the bar which left her inches away from the kitchen. With a quick glance to make sure no one was looking directly at her (Junko hadn't even noticed she had moved yet), she rolled into the next room. Not a second later, an armed man wandered through that doorway in search of a certain female—and he found one.

"Boss, there's a girl in here," he called and Eijiro met Junko's eyes nervously.

The hired gun returned from the kitchen pulling along a nervous-looking female in strappy six inch heels, a shiny leather mini skirt, and silver sequined crop top. He placed a hand firmly on the small of her back while Sato took in her deeply A-lined black hair, doe-like eyes set into a sharply angled face, and red lipstick, then shook his head. This wasn't the one he was looking for.

"Shinobi, I thought you left with your client already," Eijiro addressed the call girl, hoping his uninvited guests wouldn't see her as a witness to their dealings and a loose end as a result.

"Sorry, boss, he was too cheap. I don't play for free," the girl explained.

Her employer made a noise of acknowledgement and checked his watch. "Well, head up to yer room. Got another comin' for a meeting in a couple hours. Might need ya."

She nodded obediently, pushed away from the nonpaying henchman whose hand was starting to drift lower, and strutted herself to the front of the club where a staircase led to an upper floor, a hallway of rooms that could be rented by the hour.

The eyes of the men watched her go with solid appreciation before Sato announced his impression of the evening, "Very well, Eijiro, we'll drop this matter for the time being. But I sincerely hope you do love your club as much as you claim because if I find out you've wronged me…" He stepped close enough that the club owner could smell his brand of cigarettes and threatened in a hoarse whisper, "I'll burn it to the ground."

Shinobi walked the empty hall until she reached a door with a hanging tag that stated "詩 の 火" was working inside (while the name pronounced typically called to mind a "Sneak," or a "Ninja," the orthography read "Poetry of Fire"). A green mist surrounded her as she turned the handle and, once she was inside "her" room leaning against the door, Azami finally took a minute to breathe once more. There had been a few times when she had done like the real Shinobi who was still passed out on her bed—had swindled clients into accepting half the time while collecting full payment and used the additional break to hide out and indulge in product. She had seen this one sneak in through the kitchen when Junko was waiting tables. She thought that Azami wasn't paying attention, except that she was, and she knew exactly what had transpired after the other disappeared upstairs.

Azami looked up at herself in a mirror on the opposite wall and dusted the remaining particles off her right eye and red lipstick from the corner of her mouth, then tugged her shirt down over her hips. One thing was for sure, she would not be wearing one of those outfits ever again after all.

* * *

 ** _Next time on AGW, Fushimi and Hotaru go on a date...or something. We'll try to see you soon._**


	26. All Six Senses

_**Well looky there. Arait got her Muse back, who is apparently named Tauntress since she couldn't write until it was for the purpose of making characters miserable. Also, Kateracks did a great job on Yata! And at last it didn't take two months! Enjoy (hehehe).**_

* * *

Music vaguely reminiscent of traditional shakuhachi hung lightly in the crisp frost of dawn. An electric rhythm overlayed it with a pulsating flow, awakening the sleepy day. Saru's crane, as it was inaccurately named, began its early crowing, a daily routine which had become the bane of anyone called out for a late night emergency. Even with the dampening powers of the Scepter 4 stables, the annex still received numerous complaints from neighbors about the volume of the screech.

The melody emanated from a sleepy dojo on the immense grounds of the fourth annex's property. The first rays of morning light melted the tiny crystals of ice clinging to the crusty, dormant grass, but in the shadow of the dojo's doorway, one could still see one's breath. All of these notions were equally imperative to acknowledge.

In the midst of this blend of gentle energy and abrupt disruptance of the morning peace was a young man, by all accounts typical. Aside from his permanently drowsy eyes, his appearance and stature were what one would expect of someone Japanese. Rather it was his choice of hobbies that set him apart as unique.

Wearing a standard issue practice dogi, the blue clansman moved in time with the beat. To the melody there was an unending flow that pulsated through his body, from his fingertips to the core of his torso, interrupted only by the stuttering _boom-chick_ of a synthesized percussion preset.

The music moved in waves that seemed to control the man's body, at times dragging lethargically, at others jolting him rapidly. Even as his heartbeat pumped visibly only with help from the bass, however, it was he who brought the music around himself like an invisible energy ball that could be pushed and pulled between his hands.

In this manner Gotou embraced the day at least once a week, acknowledging the five senses in all cardinal directions. He touched the crisp air to the north and stretched to feel the sun's warmth from the east. He smelled the smoke from stoves which heated houses and the moisture of dew on a bamboo structure. All these he greeted so as to welcome the rebirth of life.

Then, suddenly the music halted with the tiny pop of a speaker being disconnected.

"What are you doing at this time of day?" A groggy voice inquired from inside the empty, practice room. "Some of us are sleeping here."

Gotou turned around to see a half-awake man whose brown hair was flat on one side and curling wildly on the other. He had thrown on brown corduroys and a sweater, with a wide V-neck collar to show the T-shirt underneath and his signature, mustard yellow piping. Around his neck was a scarf of a matching color with some Western Asian tribal print.

Behind him was a younger female, who appeared more alert, as well as more curious than frustrated. Following them was a fruit who called himself "Prince," an elegant lady whose ability boiled down to stealing reflections out of mirrors, and a set of twins that at times became only one person. This was the hodge-podge collection of strains that was currently being sheltered in the Scepter 4 dojo.

"Prince" had tried to name himself leader, ordering the others to bow before him, but the building was swamped with power dampening technology for the duration of their stay. After that, everyone had just naturally deferred to Kory. Having been there longest, he was equipped to help them adapt to the new environment. Plus, his personality suited the role (although the male of the twins would claim, "It's 'cause he's the oldest 'cept for that creepy 'Prince' guy").

Unfazed by all of them, Gotou answered frankly, "Chillstep Tai Chi."

The answer registered slowly in Kory's mind. Whether it was the interruption of his slumber, the fact that they were all sleeping barefoot in one room of a building with no heater in wintertime, or remnants of withdrawals still fogging his mind, he couldn't form a response before the runner chirped in.

"How do you do that float across the floor step?"

The clan's urgent care team had treated her ankle well so that she was back on her feet, bouncing around with nowhere to go. It seemed the excess energy might as well be put to good use learning a dance moves or two.

"Like this?" Gotou confirmed, demonstrating how by simply moving his feet from side to side, his whole body appeared to glide over the bamboo surface.

She tried to imitate his movements, sliding her heels back and forth, but she didn't move anywhere.

Kory rubbed his eyes. "As if that bird wasn't bad enough..."

The clansman ignored him and explained, "No it's one heel and one toe. Close them together, then apart again." He showed her again in slow motion, and she was able to produce a clumsy imitation. "Yes, like that. Then you can also stretch one leg out in the toe-to-heel fashion and drag the other, just barely touching it to the ground."

"I see," she acknowledged, practicing a couple more times. "And the spazzing robot thing?"

"That's advanced," Gotou protested, "first-"

The music restarted, its abrupt volume increase cutting once more through relative peace. Everyone turned to look at the speakers and saw the male twin holding the PDA and connecting cable, inescapably guilty. His sister slapped him from the back of his head, but he glided out of her reach with his tongue out. He had been observing carefully and decided he wanted to participate.

"Come on," he shouted above the music, but she looked away, glummering with her arms crossed, "it'll be fun! With your ballet and my spunk we could totally rock Chillstep!"

Even Kory, who was finally fully awake, let himself be carried away by the electronic buzz playing the underlying harmony and gave in to a few of his own hip-hop moves. He danced his way not-so-discretely over to the female nearest his own age. After spending a few days living in the same room as the flirt, she had learned not to take his advances too seriously and directed him over to the beginners' dance lesson being taught by a member of the most elite team of the Special Police Force.

"Only if you join me, Ojou-sama," he stipulated, bowing in invitation like a European man from hundreds of years ago.

She conceded with a sigh and took his hand as if they were about to enter a classic waltz, but the first move they began with looked quite a bit more like dislocating a shoulder.

"Prince," who had the habit of confusing ordinary words for terms indicating royalty - such was the case with his own name - mistook _young lady_ for _princess_ and ran forward to join them crying out, "Oujo-sama! You will be much more pleased with my elevated techniques than with those of this commoner!"

She had also grown accustomed to _his_ blunt propositions.

The runner noticed the twin sister was the only one left not participating and dragged her unwillingly to the front of class. Before long, all were picking up on the strangely unique fusion of a jarring dance and the most fluid of martial arts.

Gotou taught the class without inhibition, ignoring even a slight skip of the track that should have caught the attention of his attuned senses. After all, it wasn't every day that someone showed interest in one of his hobbies.

"Push forward gently, feeling the resistance of the air. As it builds strength, fall back, sweep it around you, and then absorb that energy gradually from the east. It will pulse through your body in waves. Block the flow; let it through in spurts like a heartbeat: rise and fall, rise and fall. Then send it out the west, halting it at every joint."

His students really did their best to follow the instructions without truly grasping his interpretation of its spirituality. In the end, each of them had their own take on the choreography. The twins faded in and out of their separate entities in a thrilling Broadway production of a modern The Princess, The Pauper, and The Gender-nondescript-split-personality Combination. The only true woman of the group continued to fend off her two suitors by summoning reflections she had collected as silhouettes and shadows on the floor to dance in sync around her, with "Prince" pirouetting perpetually like her very own moon. Meanwhile, Kory mentally remixed the song arbitrarily just because at last he could.

Without noticing, a blue glow began to form on each of Gotou's movements, the imagined energy of Qi he had been manipulating actually presenting itself as his clan's aura. He could fling a ball of it aside, and it was quickly drawn back in. Doi learned to do the same. Only the runner maintained some pretense of normalcy; though, she also was dancing at double speed.

As soon as "Prince" completed his spinning, those before his face - in this case being Kory along with Gotou being caught in the crossfire - were forced to kneel to His Majesty.

An authoritative woman commanded from the stoop of the dojo, "Get on your feet, Gotou! What are you doing here, permitting this wild circus under your watch?"

Breaking free of the moment, the member of the Special Duty Corps dragged himself back to his feet and willed away the haze caused by consciousness interference abilities. Seeing what had taken place while his guard was down to teach his enjoyable dance technique, he submitted to Lieutenant Awashima's reproof. Behind her were two more clansmen, Enomoto who appeared to be tracking the source of a spike in Dresden signals with his tablet, and Kamo who had come for the purpose of crowd control should they find an unruly uprising. She gestured them forward, and the two rushed into the dojo to apprehend the loosed strains.

Perplexed, Gotou inquired, "But...were the dampeners not in place for this building?"

Awashima shared her reprimand with another officer whom they did not know had joined them along the way. "Doi! Did you not convey the message?" He responded with a bashful grin that revealed he had also been thoroughly distracted by the addictive form of dance.

She sighed to temper her frustration and explained, "There's been a power outage from an accident up the street. We have to manually re-establish ability free zones with individual devices. Doi was sent here with an arm band for each enabled person."

As Enomoto walked past his teammate, he muttered, "Cool dance, though."

The strains looked at one another as they were surrounded by the Blues. A feral quality entered each of their expressions, fueled by the short burst of exposure to their abilities. Every one of them was considering making a run for it. Even knowing that they had willingly turned themselves in didn't quench their need for unending access. They turned to Kory for approval.

His mind was running as fast the female strain literally could. The internet, devices, that online timer counting down to the deadline of when large sums of money would no longer be his. All of it called to him. It took his whole being - and a twitching face - to indicate calm to them with a hand gesture. As miserable as they all were, the alternative was far worse.

He winced as the metal band clasped around his wrist and the high drained out of him like a sieve.

They all had the same sensation: the loss of something precious with no other choice.

* * *

In the light of day, Sakuraya transformed back into the discounted shopping district just behind one of the most popular tourist squares in Tokyo. Bachelorettes and low-income mothers bought their necessities as if the nightlife did not even exist in their world. Traces of it could be found in obscure, shady corners, but the only fear that remained was of being pickpocketed. A girl only had to hold her belongings close to feel in relative security.

The abundance of good deals on all sorts of products made finding the three items on Fushimi's list an easy task. Hotaru observed closely as he had business cards printed, not with a name, occupation, or contact information. He placed his order for textured card stock of the finest available quality and had embossed upon them in a shimmering, cobalt blue two simple characters. "_" That was the beginning and end of the username he used on the forums, but she didn't understand why it had any significance to be alone on the card.

Not until after Fushimi bought the spray paint. At first, she presumed he would also choose a shade of blue there also, but Fushimi wasn't thinking about kings and clans on the same plane. Glaring disapprovingly at her incompetence, he snatched up a can of red paint. He walked out of the store with unexplained purpose, retracing that morning's steps to a quiet corner.

A store had been forced out of business for some unknown reason. The security door was permanently closed and covered with tags, large and small, simple scribbles of coded messages to extravagant word pictures. Fushimi understood most of it from experience. To him, graffiti was just another programming language. It was all syntax and variable replacement. Therefore, he had no qualms about adding his own handle to the mix.

To the upper left of Torou's oversized proclamation of turf, Fushimi sprayed a bold, blatant "≥_" to announce himself (the location indicating assumed superiority). He followed that by a big, red X through, "ト口ー ."

Hotaru didn't know what that meant, but it sure seemed like a bad omen.

She followed him around the area, under bridges, into run-down residences, at the back door of businesses and bars that wouldn't open until nightfall. He was following directions given him by the graffiti itself from one location to the next, hitting all boundaries of Ichiban's territory in the area where Torou was named manager with his own mark.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Hotaru's constant nagging finally persuaded him to take her to a restaurant. She ordered herself a healthy, balanced plate of stir fried vegetables with beef and Fushimi followed up with an order of orange chicken and white rice, sauce on the side. She looked reproachfully at his plate, taking his repetitive poor eating personally.

The same scene from the day before repeated itself. "Is that really all you're getting?"

He had been sipping a lukewarm, slightly sweetened, milk tea when she asked the question from across the table. The waiter - some teenager trying to work his way through high school - lingered in anticipation of a response.

"Are you still offering to pay?" Fushimi inquired with a tiny quirk at the corner of his lip. She shrugged like she didn't care one way or the other, so he added to their order, "Cream cheese wontons."

Her head fell off her palm where it rested and slammed into the table, causing a thump that disturbed nearby diners. "Won't you eat any vegetables?"

There was a momentary expression of distaste before Fushimi refused coldly, "Nope."

She attempted suggesting a variety of the more easily acceptable type: radishes, cabbage, sweet potatoes, carrots. To each possibility, he disagreed more adamantly and curtly than the time before until she finally gave up.

"What _do you eat_?" She questioned in frustration.

Fushimi looked down at his plate of chicken thinking it must be obvious what he did eat.

"How did you even make it to adulthood with that diet? If you don't eat something good for you, you'll get sick and die off before you ever find this Hayashi girl."

Unexpectedly, the answer she got expressed no interest in continuing the banter that had become their norm. "Would you just shut up?" The request was bland and wanting in heart. It almost felt like she had hit some nerve, again.

She leaned forward and tipped her head sideways to get a better view of his downcast face. His eyes were faraway, and the ball of chicken fell lifelessly from his chopsticks.

"She's really someone important to you, isn't she?"

'Hah?" Coming out of the haze, his response indicated confusion.

"Hayashi," she clarified.

"No, it's not that," he brushed her concern away and pushed his plate toward the center of the table. His appetite was gone.

"Tell me about her. All I can see about her is that she's a member of JUNGLE who infected your phone with their malware. That doesn't even begin to explain why you're so hell bent on finding her. Saving her?"

"It's none of your business," Fushimi denied, staring out the window at the people passing by.

"Of course it is! I've been shot at!"

"We were not in danger. I was aware of their intentions. In any case, we escaped."

"I don't imagine what we did today will improve our chances of getting out alive," Hotaru shot back.

It earned her a vaguely meaningful response. "It's going to get us in for the party tonight."

"The party?" She repeated. "Oh the exclusive dance competition your contact mentioned? He said that was only for VIPs. How is crossing out the name of a drug ring's 'human resource manager' all over town going to get us invited?"

He answered on an entirely different subject, "We'll have to do something about your appearance."

She should have been offended, but her excitement about the covert operation got the best of her. "Ooh, like disguises? Whenever people are looking for a quick disguise, they dye their hair, right? Let's do it."

"No," Fushimi refused bitterly, without a moment's consideration. It brought instantly to mind a day back in the old apartment.

 _Yata burst through the door proclaiming, "I got some hair dye! Bright red, just like Mikoto-san!"_

 _Usually, Fushimi took care of Yata's haircuts and such, since he never had money to have it done professionally, and it wasn't like the style he wanted was anything more than a mess. Fushimi knew he wanted him to do the color job too. Having no intention to give his support to Yata's obsession with the man, Fushimi pretended he was too busy to even acknowledge the request._

 _Eventually, Yata gave up and colored his own hair. The result was red hair and stains all over his face. Thankfully, he had been able to find a solution online to clean his friend's skin, but it had still taken a few days._

Fushimi couldn't help but picture Hotaru with red splotches all over her face. That was the main reason for his refusal. As much as he was annoyed by her naturally wine-colored hair, it would be too obvious that they had changed it.

"I meant your clothes."

That brought the offense back to her tone, and she huffed, "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"You can't go to an _exclusive dance party_ looking like a Mori Girl."*

"Oi!" She reached over the table to smack him for that insult, but he easily evaded her slow movements. "It's not...that bad..." Disheartened, she stared at her hands in her lap.

The closest Fushimi ever got to concern for her reaction was a soft, emotionless, "Pay the bill. Let's go." And somewhere in those heartless words was an offer to buy her some better outfit.

* * *

Two teens with pants hanging low got up from the bench they'd been slouching on and crossed to the other side of the street as a chestnut-haired skater approached their location. He was more preoccupied with figuring out how to unwrap the breakfast item he had bought than the wannabe hoodlums, but they were not going to take the chance. Word had spread throughout their neighborhood about the boy from Homra who was thrashing anybody who didn't give him the answer he was seeking…and even those who did if they pissed him off.

Yata entered a skatepark, not paying any mind to the shadiness of it but instead feeling a little relaxed by the sound of wheels grinding on concrete as he sat down with his back against a chainlink fence to eat. He had had a long night of working his way up the drug trade ladder, starting with a mule riding a bike who directed him to a buyer in an alley who revealed a seller on a certain street corner who eventually gave up the name of his handler. That guy was a bit more difficult to crack since he was a store owner who could disguise the trade as his own business, but when Yata began torching merchandise and scaring off customers, he had none-too-willingly and quite secretively shoved a paper with two names on it and harassed him out the door. The first name was of his supplier in Ichiban, a guy named Torou who handled most of the trade dealings; the second was of the area of town where he could usually be found.

That led Yata here where, after wasting a lot of time searching for breakfast that wasn't secretively laced with something to help him get his fix, he finally purchased okonomiyaki which he could fold over and eat on the go. His mind wandered over the information in his pocket and the weight of more than a simple scrap of paper that was carried therein. Torou was leader over the business in this division of the city which meant, although he wasn't a second-in-command or what could be considered a "friend" among mob bosses, he was still high in the chain of command and a trusted ally. If he wanted someone to disappear, all he would have to do was wave a hand and the offender would never be seen again. Yata wasn't afraid for himself, of course; he was the vanguard of Homra. But for someone weaker in the self-defense department, it could be a bigger problem.

The screeching sound of metal on metal made him look up from his partially-eaten pancake to watch a kid who was probably around 16 trying to successfully grind a rail. Well, the grinding didn't seem to be the trouble—it was his dismount that was a little sloppy; his confidence waivered as he met the ground, and he stumbled off the board. He regained his composure as quickly as possible and stepped back on like it was no big deal so he could move out of the way for his buddy.

Yata, though, could see the disappointment on his face. His foot had been toying with his own skateboard—repeatedly pressing on the back until the front popped up—but now he itched to step on and show the kid what he did wrong.

The next skater to come down the rail was barely a teenager. As he neared the end, it was seen plainly on his face that he doubted his skill, especially after watching his friend fail, and he lost his balance. The board went one way and he toppled the other, meeting the pavement with a heavy _thud_.

His buddy hurried to his side. "Whoa! You okay, dude?"

Crumpling the paper form his meal, Yata stood with the intent of giving instruction, but was distracted by a shiny black Sedan pulling to the curb behind the boys. He had a flashback to a similar vehicle he had been ordered to find alongside an irritating Green Clanswoman when Totsuka's girlfriend had been kidnapped. A well-dressed middle-aged man stepped out, glanced at his surroundings, then crossed the street to a jewelry store, and he felt this must be what he was looking for.

Energy surged through him and he kicked his board into motion, shooting forward until he could jump to the top of the stairs where the rail was mounted and then off the other side. The teens called after him in awe and even more so after he fluidly wove through the middle of others using a half-pipe and out the opposite gate of the park into the street. At the other curb, he kicked his board into his hand and jogged to the storefront, doing his best to appear nonchalant as he almost ripped the door off as he opened it.

"I'll be right with you," said a stout older man behind the counter. He mumbled a few more words to the man from the Sedan and then gave him a nod before shuffling around the display to assist Yata.

"Yes sir, what can I help you find?" he inquired cheerfully while nudging Yata so that he turned away from the man and toward a display case of rings that were _way_ more expensive than anything he'd ever buy. "Let me guess, something for that special, young lady in your life?"

Yata recognized the distraction tactic right away and he glanced up at the shining storefront window to catch a glimpse of the reflection of the other man disappearing through a door to the back room. He debated briefly whether to just bust through after him or to play it cool and catch him on the way out. He decided on the latter. If this guy was Torou, he wanted that yakuza to take him to Sato, not get spooked and then vanish. In this area, which was a busy hub of dark dealings, there would be a lot of eyes to warn the leader of Ichiban if one of his stores suddenly exploded in flames.

Looking toward an electronics store across from this shop, he made up a lame excuse. "I, uh…I think I came to the wrong place."

The clerk nodded, looking a little put-off by his words, but also like he would be more upset if he didn't have a high-roller currently in the back of his shop cutting deals. "Of course, of course, happens all the time."

He ushered Yata out the door, bidding him a good day and an invitation to return if there was anything _else_ he could help with. Yata decided against demanding the head of the yakuza member who had just walked in there and turned to the entrance across the way. Weird place—had the name of a bakery on the building, but there were some really nice headphones in the window, and at least this way he could legitimately look like he belonged there while he spied on his target.

That theory didn't last as long as he would have liked since there was only so much to look at before his repeat wandering appeared suspicious, but he did watch a couple more smartly-dressed men filter into the jewelry store before he exited and returned to the skate park. If he sat on the steps, he'd be hidden enough, but still able to watch and wait for an opportunity to make his move.

But minutes turned to an hour and Homra's vanguard was not really one for the 'stakeout now, action later' approach; he soon found himself fidgeting with his skateboard again. A few more minutes and fidgeting became movement until he found himself at the top of the stairs performing basic tricks to pass the time which caught the attention of the kids from before. After a little flattery, they provoked him into demonstrating the best way to grind a rail.

"You gotta decide how you're gonna lock on," he told the younger of the two. "It's a round rail so it's harder that if it had corners. You can either have both wheels on one side and keep your weight over there..." His board was in his hands now so the teens could clearly see what he was describing as he positioned it on the rail. "…or you can get on crooked with your tail locked on this side and your front on the other side of the trucks."

The boys nodded in understanding so Yata went to the top of the stairs and rode the rail twice so they could see both methods in action. The other two chatted about which way would work better for the younger and that was a perfect time for Yata to take a breather, for when he did, he saw an armored truck pull into the alley behind the jewelry store. That wasn't strange in the least for a jewelry store, of course, at least to a normal passerby on the street and maybe to him as well if he hadn't seen a few yakuza go in an hour ago. He was also pretty sure that a truck delivering stock would have some sort of logo on the side.

Now in a hurry, he rushed through the explanation of a dismount as he jumped on his board. "When you come off, keep your weight on the back and you won't crash and burn. Commit to it!" With that tip in place, he hastily exited the park once more.

Several men stood with guns at the ready while they supervised two more who were moving boxes. They went on alert at the sound of footsteps and then a long shadow was cast from the entrance of the alleyway.

"You know, Mikoto-san would never have allowed this kinda stuff so close to his territory," the cause of the shadow voiced.

A couple men visibly recoiled and others mumbled to each other anxiously, "Suoh, Mikoto…!"

One man in the forefront wielding a rifle, presumably the leader of the security squad, frowned at his comrades' concern and asserted firmly, "Suoh, Mikoto is dead. What business do you have throwing that name around in our district?"

The shadow stretched closer as the person casting it drew nearer. The gunmen stood in position to fire at the word. At least, that is, until the culprit was discovered.

"Well, I still have to protect the honor of Homra," the voice said in a smirking tone.

Then, the individual was revealed—all 5'4" of Yatagarasu. Most were still familiar with the vanguard's reputation or just the word going around about one of the Homra boys beating up gangsters, and thus, they still held their weapons at the ready with anxious faces. In contrast, the leader did not seem too easily intimidated, perhaps even a little amused at his bravado. The henchman directly behind him, however, was not the same way and as the Red Clansman continued to advance on them, he fired a hasty shot which did nothing to deter the boy as he merely had to flare his aura to render the bullet useless. Yata wasn't about to let himself get caught off guard, though, so he decided to take care of that problem first.

When that particular goon got Yata in his sights again, the vanguard leapt to the side, kicked off the armored body of the transport truck in a burst of red and came down on the guy's chest, tackling him to the ground and knocking his handgun up into the boy's waiting hands. To his right, another henchman took aim and Yata winged the pistol into his cranium before he got any bright ideas. While still planted firmly on the chest of the first lackey, the Red Clansman turned to face the leader who was gazing in disappointment at his fallen men.

Two more men emerged from the back of the jewelry store with rifles in their hands; Yata acknowledged their presence over his shoulder and announced in frustration, "Look, jerk-offs, I'm not after your cash-out right now. Where is Torou?"

The lead man replied, "I have no idea who you're talking about," though the smug quirk of one side of his lips suggested he knew very well who that was.

Yata glared and his fists began to burn, eager to remove the arrogance on that face. He clenched them to keep from lighting up just yet as he tried one more time with the warning, "Now you're really pissing me off." He stepped off the henchman at his feet and stalked closer to the leader. "I'm only gonna ask you one more time. Where is he?"

Yata had felt the first guy struggling to breath under his weight so he had moved out of the goodness of his heart, but he should have stayed put because the moron was stupid enough to try to grab him then. Yata whipped around to effectively deck the guy, but by then the other two had decided to join the effort, and so it was at that point that the vanguard allowed himself to burst into red.

Above the fray, a sharply dressed man stood on a fire escape to apartments located above the shops while he watched the events unfolding below. His frown met his dark eyes beneath messy bangs brushed forward in stark contrast to the short buzz cut underneath. He fished a cellphone from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and selected the first option on speed dial. Someone picked up after one ring.

"Boss, you know that Homra kid who's been causing all that trouble? …I'm looking at him right now."

There was a beat of silence and a single command before the click of the call ending.

" _Bring him to me._ "

The man on the fire escape stepped inside the apartment he was closest to via the window and returned to his vantage point a moment later bearing a rifle with a thin barrel and a scope. Breathing a sigh at the incompetence of his fellow employees, he leaned his arm against the railing and propped the rifle on top of it. A moment later, he had the boy in the beanie within his crosshairs.

The other two guys had provided slightly more of a challenge as they were bigger in stature, but although small, Yata was by no means weak. He heaved the second of them over his shoulder and into the guy he had stomped in the chest earlier, thus ending the fight. He then retrieved his skateboard and lined up with the leader once more.

Just as he prepared to kick off, however, he suddenly felt a pain like a bee sting on his neck. His hand flew to the impact site and came back, not holding an insect, but a thin cylinder with a puff of feathers on one end and a fine needle which glinted in the setting sun on the other. His eyes widened in horror and then his vision became unsteady.

He stumbled off of his skateboard and tried with all his might to right himself, but only succeeded in swaying like a drunk. The man before him smirked and Yata did his best to send him a death glare, but he couldn't see very straight and his eyelids were growing heavier by the second. Behind that man, however, Yata saw another individual descending from a fire escape nearby, defining features obscured by a shadow created by the setting sun.

Yata assumed this was the one who had shot him, and he advanced on him—much more slowly than he ever would have liked. His limbs felt like he was pulling the armored truck with them until they could no longer take the effort, and he dropped to his knees followed shortly by an ungraceful meeting of the pavement with the side of his face.

Freshly shined dress shoes appeared in his fading vision followed by knees in tailored dress pants as the new arrival crouched before him. A strong hand gripped his head and lifted it up to look at them, though the Red Clansman had to squint into the sun shining over their styled hair and couldn't see any real features.

"Thanks for dropping in, kid," said a male's voice before his consciousness fled from him. "Saved me the trouble of coming to look for ya."

* * *

The clothing store selected for their purposes by a quick internet search was obviously a place neither government official belonged in. Its colors were so convulsively bold that it looked like confetti vomit. Fushimi had an instant migraine. Everything on the racks looked like it would only cover the bare necessities, possibly only a fraction.

Wigs in every possible shade lined one wall, purses and accessories were smashed onto shelves in the back. They were apparently holding a huge sale in preparation for Christmas so that sections that may have usually been at least mildly organized had become a complete catastrophe.

Hotaru wasn't any more thrilled by the prospects, hesitating behind her taller companion. She didn't even know where to begin when it came to current trends. Fushimi took one look at her panicked expression and stepped up with a sigh.

"What size are you anyways?"

She blushed and sputtered bashfully. "F-four."

He clicked his tongue at her pointless embarrassment and walked into the first aisle of clothing. "It's not like it matters," he muttered as he grabbed every article in her size and threw them all into a pile in her arms. Once he had collected them all, he commanded, "Go try them on."

The heap of fabric shuffled off as instructed, and Fushimi collapsed onto a nearby chair the shape of a shoe to await the results.

For a while, all was quiet. Only the sounds of hangars moving around and Jpop in the background filled the air, until an unsure voice called timidly, "Fushimi?"

He had nearly drifted to sleep when his name was called, so his reply was quite a drowsy hum.

"I don't even know what to look for." The statement came out sounding choked off like admitting so was incredibly difficult for her.

"Just try it all. We'll put aside whatever doesn't work."

Somehow taking the accidental mention of 'we' as an invitation to include him in the process, Hotaru came out in the first outfit. She looked super self conscious, tugging the hem of the short shorts further down in an attempt to make them longer. Her thin, porcelain legs were exposed clear down to the ankle where her fleece socks had bunched up. While she blushed at trying on such revealing clothes in front of a guy, he analyzed it purely on logistics.

"Not that shirt. It's the same thing you were just wearing."

Hotaru looked down at her torso, raising her arms in confusion. This was a flowing, lacy blouse; whereas, she had been wearing a knit sweater. He ushered her back into the changing room without another word, though. She tried several more shirts with the distressed jean shorts - from midriff baring halter tops to t-shirts with claw marks torn out of them - none of which met with approval.

She tried on a jumpsuit even shorter than the shorts with a front zipper that purposefully only came up to the bottom of the sternum which received the criticism, "Slutty Bōsōzoku."*

Then a doll-like dress met with, "Too Loli."

The skin-tight pants gave her "bird legs," and all the hip-hop looks gave her the appearance of a child. Halfway through the store, the only thing he hadn't turned his nose up at entirely was a sleeveless turtleneck with keyholes in the front and the back, but even that she had nothing to wear with.

Esteem completely deflated, she returned to the changing room yet again with another failed attempt. How could anyone even stand to be with a guy like that, who had something demeaning to say at every turn and no concept at all of how another person's feelings work? She wanted to cry. He had insulted every single aspect of her physique with an unchanging exasperation.

This was _his_ idea in the first place, so why was she the one suffering? Then again, the selections had also been his choice. None of this clothes was anything she would choose to wear herself, which meant his cutting remarks weren't necessarily a personal assault. If she also acknowledged how mockable the articles of clothing were and thought of herself as trying them on just to be silly, what he said about them might not bother her so much.

She looked at her own body in the full length mirror on the back of the stall door, at the miniscule curves that hardly even required a bra or panties to conceal. _At least part of what he said._ The rest was far too close to true to be ignored.

"What's taking so long?" His taunting interrupted her thoughts. "Did you get lost inside a size small?"

She grit her teeth and threw on the fastest thing. Slamming the door open, she snapped at him, "Why don't you try on some of the crap in here, and we'll see what _your_ legs look like in a mini skirt? Why am I the only one looking for a new wardrobe anyhow? You look like you came straight from a private, prep school in your designer blandness! What are _you_ going to wear to the party?"

He had been yawning when she first burst out, but her outrage at least took the singsong out of his mocking when he calmly pointed out, "You're wearing it wrong."

"What did you say?" She demanded furiously.

To avoid the bother of repeating himself, Fushimi strode over to readjust the skirt line himself. Scandalized, Hotaru gasped in shock as he untied the sloppy bow she had made, and she backpedaled into the changing room. He followed, not dissuaded in the slightest, grabbed the waistband, and pulled down. Her hands flew to her chest.

"W-what are you doing?"

He flicked her collarbone where he had just removed what she had assumed was some sort of bizarre cowl neckline. "Those aren't sleeves," he explained, referring to the part of the dress that now squeezed her elbows to her sides. "Off."

At least he had closed the door behind them so no one else could witness the scene. The look on Fushimi's face clearly read, _I hate this as much as you do,_ but the sentiment seemed to come from annoyance at perceived incompetence rather than an actual comprehension of the emotions behind her hyperventilation. He also looked like he was ready to rip the dress off her himself if she didn't act quickly.

She slipped her arms out the top, and what she had thought of as a neckline snapped neatly into place around her chest. The arm holes turned into coyly located slits down each side. Even the skirt lengthened itself to cover the top third of her thighs. Before she could thoroughly assess herself, Fushimi whirled her around by the shoulders, thrusting her into the wall. He grabbed the sashes she had tied around her waist and brought them up, around to the back of her neck where they were supposed to be fastened.

Then he directed her as gently as in a dance to see herself in the mirror. It was a blue, shimmering bodycon dress with a halter-styled top that magnified the bosom while equally covering it modestly. The uncovered sides were not too incredibly revealing either.

Fushimi expressed her opinion in far less descriptive words. "Not bad."

"I guess not," she agreed, examining her new look as it slowly registered in her mind that Fushimi had neither harmed her nor ever intended to. With all that skin exposed, though, "I'm going to be cold."

"We can fix that," Fushimi assured like it was no problem at all.

"And you?" She inquired of his reflection in the mirror.

He remembered her question she was referring to from a few minutes prior and answered accordingly, "Us 'bland, prep' guys only need something like this on one arm to get into a party."

She blushed as deeply as her burgundy hair from the unexpected compliment in such close quarters, even if the one saying it had an apathetic expression and the personality fitting for a Grumpy Cat meme.

Just after sunset, the two undercover agents stood in a line that originated at an elevator and ran all the way outside the building. The location was one of those high rise residences built atop a business, not at all unlike the design of Bar HOMRA or the loft he had one upon a time shared with a certain hothead. The only notable difference was in quality. HOMRA was mid-range; their studio apartment had been the run-down kind of place where homicides had happened previously; this place was the kind celebrities lived at, with an Italian designer as its store front and a helipad on the roof like they had only dreamed of as kids. The exterior walls were of gold plating and one directional glass rather than cinder blocks or chipped cement.

It was the kind of place _that man's wife_ might have brought him to if she had ever admitted to his existence. He didn't feel out of place in the least surrounded by all the luxury. With his history that would be impossible. Frustration was the predominant source of negativity.

Neither did Hotaru look uncomfortable in the high-end environment. In the nearly nonexistent dress yes, but not the social level. They had managed to find a navy, mesh camisole that would keep her warm without ruining the tease the dress have at her sides. To that, they had added nylons of the same color and transparency with starbursts resembling the night sky and thigh-high platform boots. In turn, she had persisted in buying him a fedora from the _women's_ accessory store because it "completed his snob look." He hated it because it reminds him of that technopathic hipster. Then again, he could definitely picture that guy at this party.

In any case, they belonged just fine in the line of people. Most of the others there were famous for something or other. There were rappers, the biggest athletes, upper level Yakuza, the descendents of billionaires, and a variety of other people of the same caliber that Fushimi didn't care to learn about.

In the midst of all that prowess, a select few were so VIP that the line was cut off just for their entrance, such as DJ Makidai or the featured dancers of the night. Those who waited, fought off the cold with gossip. Of the many whispered rumors in the air that night, there was one on everyone's lips: the threat against Ichiban's Sakuraya divisional leader. Fushimi smirked in a twisted sort of self satisfaction that word had spread so quickly.

The theories of who was behind the threat varied from person to person. Some were attributing it to a certain delinquent who had been taking out their underlings one-by-one in rather violent ways. (At that, Fushimi couldn't help but wonder if Misaki had somehow stumbled upon the same trail). Another, more informed person corrected that thought by pointing out whoever had been pummeling Ichiban's men hadn't been limiting himself to Torou's division. The two were potentially related, but certainly not the same person.

Eventually, the line progressed forward so that it was the blue clansmen's turn to be checked for entry. Aside from a select few instant access guests, everyone was expected to be on the invitation list. Fushimi and Hotaru weren't on the list, but they were prepared.

Unable to recognize them at first glance, the bouncer demanded curtly, "Name," like it was something he did way too much of.

Rather than answer, Fushimi extracted the wallet from his pocket, whipped out one of the business cards he had made that morning, and presented it to the man between his index and middle fingers. Already accustomed to the higher-than-thou attitude of many attendees at these events, the man took the card without much thought.

Only after seeing the sole logo embossment did his eyes widen with interest. "You're..." He looked from the card to the person who had provided it. The young man held a straight face, neither flaunting the identity nor denying the allegations. The bouncer finished his earlier comment neutrally, "gutsy."

He called over the two guards standing at the front door, and handed one of them the card with instructions to seek Torou's approval. Then, gesturing to the second, he requested politely of the potential guests, "Please wait here a moment."

That guard was overly talkative, while not necessarily being too eloquent. He tried to strike up a conversation with them while they waited so as to keep the customers happy.

"Shame to keep a lady like you from dancing." He mentioned to Hotaru with one of those friendly voices that was creepy.

"Uh...thanks," she replied, unsure of how to take the compliment. Suddenly she felt aware again of just how short the dress was.

Fushimi didn't really pay attention to the exchange of forced cordiality - finding his mind was becoming clouded with stray feelings he couldn't comprehend in anticipation of the coming encounter - until the topic of conversation changed to him.

"You remind me of someone," the guard awkwardly pointed out all of a sudden.

Even eyes pointed toward the marble, lobby floor, he glanced sideways at the bizarre man with a grumble. "Like you've seen me around some place?"

"No, no," the doorman corrected. "I see thousands of people doing this. It's more like...aha that lady whose face is on all those business magazines! Fu...Fu- something. Anyhow, used to see this guy named Niki quite a lot. Sometimes when he was drunk he'd say this business lady was his college sweetheart and throw darts at her pictures in those articles complaining how she'd let him down by becoming boring. If the two of them ever did get together, this is undoubtedly the face that would come from it."

Fushimi's expression never changed from the same shut-down stare he had adopted at the first mention of the people whose social status he had inherited. It was still quite clear that he loathed the connection, and feelings that strong on the matter suggested that the relation had not been imagined by the bouncer.

Hotaru wondered why he felt that way about his family. It wasn't like the idea of negativity towards parents was entirely foreign to her either. She was just curious. Had it been a determining factor in his unappealing personality? Was that the reason the randomest things could trigger a complete shutdown in his computer brain? There had to be more to the story than just a little drunk rambling.

She knew it wasn't the time to bring such things up.

The third doorman returned then and whispered Torou's response to hearing the news for only the main guy to hear. He acknowledged the message with a wave of the hand showing they should be let in.

* * *

 _ **Oh no Yata! This might not be good... And Fushimi's about to enter his father's world. Hope you liked this chapter, and look forward to the next one! :D**_

 _ ***Mori Girl is a clothing style typically of natural tones and baggy, shapeless clothes. Literally the forest style.**_

 _ **Bōsōzoku is something like pit crew uniforms.**_

 _ **Thank you "Prince" for making an appearance from Days of Blue- White Bean Stewed Tofu Panic!**_


	27. The Bartender's Apprentice

_**Arait suddenly got the feeling that we were neglecting other K characters lately and threw some of them into the fire. Ah, also thank you mst88 for giving such a positive response to last chapter! It made us happy.**_

* * *

Kusanagi had been informed of the event that was the party of the year. He had heard of the exclusivity of the attendees. It wasn't possible to live your life on the dark side of the street without overhearing talk of the "epic dance battle" which was to be the main show. Therefore, when a 26 year old billionaire with slicked back hair, who was well known to be the organizer, pulled up to HOMRA in his convertible, Kusanagi panicked a little at the state of his bar.

That evening Anna had the sudden urge to do something with everyone in memory of Totsuka. She decided to try her hand at preparing his famous, red soup Tom Yum Goong and had taken insight from all of her clansmen as to what they remembered most about it. The result had been a fiery sauce so sour it made the face pucker - thanks to yet another petty argument between Yata and Bandou, one insisting the soup was hot, the other claiming sour.

In spite of the taste, everyone had happily swallowed their Princess King's will and their former vassal's memory. It was similar to making a toast with a low quality liquor then forcing it down because the sentiments were too important to deny.

Of course, once the meal was over, the boys went back to their usual antics, transforming his bar into a play pen. He let it go longer than normal since too much time had passed where they weren't able to rough house like the family they were. When the billionaire pulled up by the front door, though, he called the boys into line in a hurry.

The bar was mostly back in order when the high class customer walked in with a female on his arm like an accessory.

"Kusanagi-sempai! Long time no see," he greeted his former upperclassman.

"It's been even longer since we were in high school together," Kusanagi replied to the outdated honorific. "What can I get you and the lady?"

"No need to rush; we're all friends here. How have you been?"

"Not as well off as you clearly," Kusanagi joked, half seriously, "but I've had my share of success."

The billionaire glanced around the room, taking in the table of rowdy boys attempting to look like customers, and the pale girl staring at him motionlessly like a doll. "They say you adopted a kid. I assume that's her?"

"Ah, yes. Though, it's more like she adopted me." He called her over, "Anna, this is a person I went to school with from one grade below us. It's not everyone who gets to say they went to school with a future billionaire."

She nodded her acknowledgement and then took a seat on a nearby stool to continue watching him in suspicion. The man made a show of downplaying his accomplishment, loudly stating, "It was all ambition and good timing." Then he leaned forward to utter a secret, "Rumor has it she's Honami-sensei's niece, and you took her from a psych ward after Sensei's 'case of amnesia' which was actually caused by those Usagi."

Knowing denial would only increase curiosity, Kusanagi leaned in ever closer. "What if I said it was true?"

The billionaire laughed wholeheartedly at the absurdity of the gossip. "So where are those two who were always hanging around you?"

"They..." The weight of the truth hit the only survivor of the trio like a boulder so that he couldn't twist it into anything lighthearted. "Are no more."

Sensing the mood of the whole place darken, the visitor opted for a better subject, the reason he had come. "There's an ironically small number of customers here for how highly everyone speaks of your mixing."

"Some days are busier than others," the bartender agreed noncommittally.

"I've heard that you can turn any ingredient into a delicious cocktail."

"Well I've had my share of bizarre requests, but I live to serve."

"Perfect. I'm having a little shindig in a few weeks and more than one of the guests of honor have...unique tastes. Your talent could prove very useful. My friend here has one of the most delicate pallets in Japan. We're here to try a few unusual concoctions. If she approves them, your services will be highly compensated."

He slid a list of likely combinations across the bar, and Kusanagi had to control every muscle in his face to neither widen his eyes in fear nor wrinkle his nose in disgust. After all, if he passed this preliminary exam, he had just been invited to the most exclusive party in Tokyo on the basis of his pride and joy. It was a dream come true! Revolving around the thing he hated most.

After two weeks, the awaited night had finally arrived. Kusanagi brought Chitose along with him, his only associate who could actually belong in the high class setting, as an assistant. As it turned out, however, an entire team of servers and two amateur mixologists had been prepared for him. The men from HOMRA stared in awe at the black, marble bar with edges and shelves lit up by neon colored strip lights.

Even though he had spent more than adequate time in the planning stages to ensure plenty of the finest spirits would be in stock, Kusanagi had brought along a box of his personal favorites, but the selection on site turned out to be even wider than his imagination could fathom. Chitose quickly felt like he would only get in their way and tried to slink away after hefting the box onto the back counter.

Kusanagi grabbed him by the ear, in his amazed state using a treatment he usually reserved for the more reckless members of their clan. Jolted by a punishment he never received, Chitose cried out in surprise, "Agh, Kusanagi-san!"

"Where do you think you're going?" The elder asked, never taking his eyes off of the shelves of choice liquors.

"You won't be needing my help after all, so-"

"You might as well enjoy the party for which I staked my reputation just to get you in?" Kusanagi finished the sentence. "You're the only one I shared my recipes with."

"Alright, I get it," the apprentice yielded. "Just let go."

"Eh?" The confused response emphasized how unaware of his action Kusanagi had been. He released the throbbing body part with a nervous smile. "Let's check the fridge."

It wasn't like the stable headed strategist of Homra to be uncomfortable or off his game. Chitose had never guessed the man could be unsettled by nerves, but it seemed the level of event they were privileged to attend had gotten to them both. The contents of the refrigerator smacked sense back into booth gentlemen. On the top shelf were ingredients one would typically use in the creation of mixed drinks: cherries, olives, slices of pineapple and lime. The bottom shelf, however, contained foods no sane person would ever put in a cocktail: hot chilies, goat milk, octopus tentacles, and a bottle of fish sauce.

After all, they were only there to satisfy strange cravings.

At that time, only people involved in set up and employees of the production were on the roof in the open air club. It was like the calm before a storm, everyone running through last minute checklists, because doors opened at the last sign of daylight. Before long, the place was crawling with invitees catching up, networking, or enjoying the preshow.

True VIPs, of course, arrived late, trickling in one-by-one like they owned the place. Many of them likely had contributed a substantial sum. The whole atmosphere changed when DJ Makidai made his appearance, accompanied by a collective cheer. Until that point the club's lights had been passively active, with a soft blue glow, and the music playing was some pre-synthesized EDM track in the background like the song one might hear while on hold with the Electric Daisy Carnival.

When the DJ took his place at the turntable atop a bus sized boombox, he ground the whole club to a halt with a hand on the record. Even the hired barhands paused their bottle tricks as every light went out. The first light to return illuminated the silhouette of his logo, a large M with the D and J on either side looking like headphones.

Then, his voice roared through the darkness in full surround sound and poor English, "Letsu sutato jisu pahty!"

Moments later, a crowd had piled onto a fluorescent dance floor, and the rooftop was filled with ear shattering beats and every color of the neon rainbow. Even with four bartenders, the workload was overwhelming. Chitose mostly stuck to filling the high traffic, straightforward orders like beer, shots, and everyday combinations. The hired hands managed most cocktails, the ones with well known names, meaning if any women came up to the bar, they were most likely served by one of those two, which Chitose bitterly thought was unfair. All three of them were so permanently busy that there really was no time for flirting, though.

Kusanagi filled in all the gaps left between them when he wasn't giving his undivided attention to creating special orders. Occasionally he'd send one of the easier combinations down the line or take a simple request himself if it came from a customer of high rank. The night was proceeding as hectically and smoothly as was expected from this type of event.

After an hour or so, the drink orders slowed down as the actual competition began. Average dancers ceded the stage to the experts, encircling it with cameras in hand. DJ Makidai announced the contestants and explained the rules. It was tournament style, one bracket made up of professional dance crews for movies or music videos and such; the other bracket were UTube sensations and street performers. Two teams would take the stage at a time and showdown until a winner was decided by the crowd.

No one wanted to miss an instant, and - while that kept the waitresses fairly busy running back and forth - the boys got a chance to take a breath and just watch.

Each team provided the track they were prepared to dance to, and the DJ could switch from one to the other whenever he chose, creating an impromptu back and forth that really riled up the crowd. Right around the time Makidai shouted, "Freeform!" Fushimi was escorted into the club by one of the intimidating guards from downstairs. That was a point in each dance battle where the DJ could remix a track however he felt like in that exact moment, and the dancers had to adjust without forewarning to suit the new beat.

Kusanagi did a double take, shaking his head in case the constantly changing lasers had shown him an apparition. Fushimi had been shown in? Fushimi, Saruhiko, the betrayer of Homra and Scepter 4's third-in-command, the hater of all things loud, fun, and party-like had just walked into the most exclusive party in all of Tokyo with a stunning redhead on his arm. Still not believing his eyes, he elbowed Chitose and nodded in the direction the two were being led.

He confirmed it was true with a shocked, "Ehhhh? What the hell is that blue bastard doing here?"

They watched curiously as "the traitor" bent to whisper in his lady's ear. She seemed to disagree, but he insisted. Then, he pretended to trip and flung his PDA under the feet of a hundred people. Both free clansmen knew something must be very wrong if the techy blue threw his phone deliberately. He dashed into the crowd to reclaim it, urgently followed by the doorman while the female blended in with the other spectators.

The doorman extracted Fushimi by the forearm, the latter apparently claiming he had only gone after his device and that he was perfectly capable of walking on his own. The man looked around briefly for the missing girl. He must have decided she was of secondary importance because he shoved Fushimi forward roughly in continuance.

Some shady deal at the end of the bar stole Kusanagi's attention away, and he scolded the two involved, "Oi! That kind of business has no place at my bar!"

The seller, not about to lose his profit mocked, "This isn't even your bar, Ji-san."

"Tonight it is. And if you're gonna ruin your life with that crap, at least have the decency to hide behind a dumpster like a normal person."

When reasoning had no effect on the arrogant young people, Kusanagi resorted to the means with which he regularly defended his own bar: physical force. "You want brain damage? I'll give you brain damage." He slammed their faces into the marble surface.

"Now boys, I'll say it once more, 'That kind of business has no place here.' Understood?"

They mumbled their replies through crushing pain, "Yes Sir."

"I can't hear you. Do I need to call the bouncer? Or can you take this elsewhere yourselves?"

"No, no, we get it," the seller insisted, trying to squirm out of the vice-like grip on his skull, "We'll go, okay Mister?"

Kusanagi released the two men but confiscated the product, to which the seller nearly protested. On second thought, he decided he'd rather escape with his head in tact and a stash in his pocket the barman didn't know about yet. When Kusanagi looked back across the room, the girl was still lingering nearby, but Fushimi was nowhere to be seen.

"Ah? Where'd they go?" He inquired of Chitose who had been privileged to observe both scenes.

Chitose finished filling a beer for a waitress he'd made a connection with through the course of the evening. "Oh they took him to the room behind the stage."

Kusanagi's concern deepened along with his frown lines. After wiping down the marble surface he had sullied, he tossed the cloth aside and announced to the help, "I'm going for a smoke while things are still slow." While he certainly intended to do just that, there was also a phone call he had to make.

* * *

Awashima didn't know if she could properly convey to the captain the sobering impact of Homra's second not using the pet name Seri-chan when he called her. There was a real concern in his voice when he asked if they had any idea what Fushimi was up to, officially or unofficially. He wasn't one to pry into the matters of other clans, knowing that sometimes a situation required a little underhanded action to reach a resolution. When he described what he had witnessed, therefore, she knew it was no exaggeration. It was news that had to be brought to Munakata's attention with haste.

After reviewing the details with her, Munakata laced his hands together and thoughtfully rested his chin on the set of extended index fingers. "Is that so?" He inquired, showing no worry in his voice or posture but with deep interest to learn more.

"Our records say Fushimi has requested a temporary leave of absence for purely personal reasons, but Fushimi doesn't take time off, especially not in the middle of a major case such as that of the Mouri brothers," the lieutenant presented her opinion with as little biased emotion as possible. "You haven't sent him on a mission, have you Captain?"

"What do you think?" He wondered, not at all sarcastically.

She couldn't imagine her king knowingly sending any of his men on a suicide mission such as this, nor was it conceivable that somehow he did not know what his valuable subordinate was up to. Far too desperate to play his games, Awashima snipped, "Captain!"

Munakata replied then, "It is indeed paid time off he requested, and yet it is also a mission, though not from me. This is a mission of his own inventing."

"But-" she began to protest.

As usual, her king was several steps ahead of her. "'But now, in the middle of the biggest case since Konomura, Zenichi?' you ask? His official request was 'time off to look into the Mouri case clandestinely,' implying possibly even from within their own ranks. With his impeccable record, it would be inappropriate behavior of a superior to distrust him based solely on what might be called 'a hunch.' That said, I have been aware for quite some time that what he is currently working on has no connection whatsoever to official clan business. But who is to say an employee as dedicated as Fushimi-kun will not also take time while he is out to solve the case as promised?"

Awashima wasn't convinced by a closing argument that Munakata himself presented with only half-hearted belief. "You don't actually think he will?"

Munakata neither confirmed nor denied the accusation, adding instead an unprofessional opinion. "'Off the record,' as they say, would you not agree Awashima-kun that it is in fact quite impressive, whether he openly admits it or not, that Fushimi-kun actually does have a person in his life so important that he would take such uncharacteristic risks?"

Her face softened when she thought about it on a personal level. As the two playing the biggest role in him finally starting to grow up, the closest things to parental role models he had ever had, it was a little heartwarming to think of their grumpy, loner with an important person. She smiled wryly, as his life was still clearly in danger from his stubborn need to fix it by himself.

"Then that female Kusanagi-san saw with him is a friend in need?" She asked.

"Oh no. That is Hotaru, Akihime-kun from the Research and Development Department of the Intelligence Division. I asked her to keep an eye on him for me." Munakata countered as if it were obvious.

Awashima frowned, "Then who is he looking for?"

A rare phrase to pass Munakata's lips was the answer: "I don't know."

Awashima was too shocked to form a response, but Munakata did not allow his admission of ignorance to dwell long between them. "Though, if he had found her, he would already have returned to work, and this evening's events certainly raise doubts about the security of allowing him to continue free rein. Awashima-kun, prepare a task force of those officers most able to find and persuade Fushimi-kun. Tell them to remain on standby, in case need arises for us to suddenly extract him."

"Yes Sir," she immediately agreed to the order and then wondered, "as for tonight?"

"No action is needed as of now," he assured.

Awashima accepted the dismissal and left the office with a bow. Mind racing with worries and the major question of who Fushimi would listen to if they did have to go after him, she didn't watch where she was going and suddenly had the impression she had bumped into something. Searching her vicinity, she saw neither obstacle nor person in her path and continued on assuming she must have just tripped herself up from inattentiveness.

* * *

Chitose had a shaker in one hand and a bottle in the other when one of the other bartenders informed, "Another of your recipes."

"Be there in a sec," he acknowledged, pouring the contents of the shaker into a martini glass and topping it with the standard olive on a toothpick.

"Where's your boss anyways? Shouldn't he be back by now?"

The intermission rush was in full swing, and Kusanagi was still on his "smoke break." By that point, he could have smoked a whole pack. Add to that the fact that Fushimi hadn't yet reemerged from backstage, and the hired hands weren't the only ones becoming concerned. He had already called Kusanagi three or four times to ask what was going on with no answer, but he decided to try again.

Between finishing up a couple simple orders for his favorite waitress, listening to the instructions for the unique request, and wiping down his working surface to prepare the unusual concoction without it coming into contact with any number of common allergens, he dialed his elder's number once again.

"Where are you?" He whispered to the device that rang without connecting. That attempted contact failed as well, and he slid the phone back into a pocket to give his undivided attention to the work at hand.

Around the time the DJ announced the next performers would be the boys of Exile Tribe verses the girls from Club Vignette, a slender beauty approached the bar with the pale skin of a geisha, eyes as vibrant as her tinselating blue dress, and hair that shone like fine merlot held up to the sun. He didn't know by what grace she had chosen his line, but he was glad she had.

"What can I get for you, Miss?" He asked politely.

"Oh nothing," she turned down his offer, which was baffling enough on its own since she had obviously been standing in a line of people who were ordering drinks, but her second comment by far took the cake of crazy things he had heard that night. "I'm not old enough to drink yet."

Stunned by the revelation, Chitose replied wide eyed, "First of all, how did you get in? Secondly, why would you openly admit it to me?"

"Never mind that," she waved the thought away like a banality. "Age wasn't what mattered when they let us in."

Something about her comment triggered his memory, and he recognized her bodycon dress as belonging to the girl who had been with Fushimi. This could turn out to be a very important encounter.

The girl - since he couldn't very well call someone underaged a woman - continued, "You bartender people are supposed to know all the dirt, right?"

 _Just as abrasive as your date, I see,_ Chitose thought to himself as he looked around for evidence of Kusanagi's return. He might be the one with an idea of what to do with Fushimi's presumed girlfriend - or else a purchased companion; although that seemed a little low, even for the traitor - but the true bartender was still nowhere to be seen. Instead, a line of impatient customers had piled up behind the current client.

"Well," he suggested, "if you could just wait a moment..."

Realizing his dilemma, Hotaru yielded, "If I absolutely must buy something for your time, I'll take a club soda with blueberry and mint."

Chitose stepped to the refrigerator to retrieve a sprig of the requested spice. "With ice?" He inquired.

"No thanks."

Taking his time to casually mix the beverage allowed them a brief moment to talk. After all, with the mysterious disappearance of both of their companions, it was probably a good idea to keep a close eye on her. "What would you like to know?"

Not particularly good at introducing topics, she just came straight out with her question, "Have you ever heard of someone named Hayashi, Azami?"

He was so startled by the mention of that name that his hands went loose, and he almost dropped the blueberry syrup. "Who?"

She could easily tell his response was one of disbelief and not of ignorance, so she prodded further, "Do you know where she is?"

Having barely regained his composure from the shock, his face sank somberly, and the only answer he could give was an honest one, "No. I haven't seen her in a while." He didn't specify when or where he had seen her last. It didn't seem like a good idea. Instead, he tried to extract information from her. "You and Fushimi have reason to believe she might be in a place like this?"

Then, it was Hotaru's turn to feel stunned. "F-fushimi? You know him too?" It was almost like everyone there that night did!

He shrugged. "More or less."

For the last few days all of Homra had been stressing over her disappearance. Anna had explicitly said not to go searching for Hayashi, but it would be no good if she wound up in this kind of crowd. Of course, that was a little hypocritical coming from the one who willingly jumped at the opportunity to attend the event. Maybe the difference was that she was alone, and injured, and being targeted. Plus, he maybe still believed a little too much in chivalry.

He asked a couple more questions, "What kind of lead are you following? Those guys behind the stage, are they related to the car accident?"

"There was a car accident?" Hotaru replied with confusion. There was so much to this story that she knew absolutely nothing about, and she felt like she probably never would.

 _So Fushimi was keeping her in the dark._ Chitose pondered while he filled a couple simple orders. That wasn't a surprise at all. He was probably upset with himself that she even found out the name. There likely wasn't very much information he could gather from her after all. He still needed to keep her around, though, at least until Kusanagi came back with an update.

"Yeah, she was in an accident," he said, giving the girl his attention once again and supplying her with empty information that wouldn't change anything. "Right before she disappeared."

A little piece fell into place for Hotaru, and she murmured to herself, "So that busted up guy at the hotel who works for Torou must have been the driver, or something."

"Did you say Torou?" Chitose clarified in almost a hush. He had assumed wrong; she did know stuff, and he wanted to know all of it.

Unfortunately, one of the other workers called out to him, "Chitose, special order!"

"Be right back," he promised Hotaru and then hurried off to fix a lactose intolerant man an Irish coffee.

Hearing the bartender's name for the first time, Hotaru thought it sounded suspiciously familiar, like he might have been a strain or something. Maybe that was the missing link between this green clanswoman and the strain uprising. Pulling out her phone, she did a quick search in Scepter 4's registration database for Chitose. The results specified his allegiance belonged to the red clan. That only led to more questions, but she knew running her mouth off like she had to one of those Homra guys would not be good.

When Chitose got back from perfecting the cafe au lait sans lait, the only trace left of the red haired girl was a handful of coins. "Shit," he cursed under his breath as he scanned the crowd with his eyes unable to distinguish her features in the constant blur of color. With Kusanagi still gone, though, and a heavily backed up group of customers who were growing angry that they were missing part of a good performance, he knew it wouldn't be possible for him to also leave.

* * *

 _ **No Fushimi in this chapter, just ominous references. Tee-hee. But hey, at least we didn't make you wait.**_


	28. Backstage Access

_**We're back! Without leaving you with too much suspense, here is Fushimi's perspective on what went down at the party. Dun dun dun!**_

* * *

It was somewhere along the slow elevator ride toward the roof that it suddenly dawned on Fushimi exactly what situation he had gotten himself into. Not just himself, but the ignorant tagalong too. It was probably the doorman's insistence that only the three of them enter the lift that finally blocked out the general atmosphere of excitement enough for the impending doom to sink in.

In his need to meet Torou face to face, he had acted impulsively, with desperation, _emotionally._ Ignoring everything but the strongest desire at the time was the way Misaki did things, not him. But the effects of this insane plan were already in full force. There wasn't time to analyze the reasons for his unusual recklessness. He needed to come up with a way for them to leave this party alive, or at least Hotaru.

She remained unaware of the threat hanging over them, riding the high of their success thus far and the prestigiousness of the event they had earned access to. Of course, she hadn't lived in this world, and she really had no idea what he had done to endanger them. He definitely should have lost her back at the internet cafe, Captain's orders or not.

She was rambling about some rapper she had seen enter before them, and how she had a sister who would love to have his autograph, or maybe how jealous she would be if the two of them got their picture taken with him. Fushimi knew he still had to talk to Torou to make sure he hadn't already gotten his filthy hands on Hayashi, so he couldn't just kill this doorman and flee. He had to follow through with this terribly designed plan.

Speaking of filthy hands, their escort refused to take his off Fushimi's shoulder, no matter how many times he tried to shrug it away. He had a grip like a vice, the kind that lessened a person, making Fushimi feel trapped. He couldn't act because even the smallest motion would be sensed by the crushing fingers.

What would he say to Torou? What persona would have the best effect? He knew he would have to keep the confidence and self-assurance that had gotten him to this point. Aside from that... Was he still from the supplier? Would it be better to be Hayashi's new handler? That probably wouldn't fool anyone. Maybe something a little closer to the truth like a psychotic acquaintance. Then he could go totally yandere on them like in the manga Hotaru had been discretely reading the night before on their long train ride. Splatter the whole lot of them across the walls, guilty or not, then walk away covered in blood.

That probably wouldn't work either. There were obviously too many people allied with Ichiban for him to _walk away_ after killing someone of high rank. He'd be a target for life, and that life would be a short one. If by some stroke of fate he did manage to escape, he'd probably contract some blood borne disease from the massive hemorrhaging splashing in his eyes or some minor cut when a stray bullet grazed his arm.

If that's what it took to save Hayashi, though, he'd willingly die the death of a samurai. He shook himself out of his imagination. That wasn't him talking at all. He was no samurai. He was the one who, in the end, would be feared and hated by everyone, even by the people he had to protect because he didn't seek justification for the choices that he made. After all this, even if Hayashi resented him forever for his unconventional methods, he wouldn't regret it. He would do what had to be done, right or wrong.

What needed to be done in that instant was to lose Hotaru.

When the elevator doors opened to a high roof overlooking Tokyo's most famous nightscape, the escort urged them forward - one more roughly than the other. Fushimi began to scan the scene for diversions, but the flashing lights were magnified against the lenses of his glasses so that the whole place was nothing but glare.

Hotaru seemed to fare better with the lights and the noise, saying something about how much she liked the song one of the teams was dancing to, some funky American tune. "Oi, Fushimi! Are you even listening?"

He snarled a frustrated reply, "What did I tell you about shouting out names?"

Not only did the doorman now know how to introduce him when he met Torou, but as a side effect some random guys at a nearby table called out, "Hey Fushimi-san! It's been forever! People were starting to say you died or something!"

He looked their direction; although, he didn't recognize their voices from anywhere. As soon as they got a glimpse of his face, all three started laughing viciously, "No way, that's not Fushimi-san! He's way too young."

"Wait, do you think it's...?"

" _Little Monkey?_ "

Another burst of laughter errupted from the table. "Oh my, _Little Monkey_ is all grown up now!"

 _For someone who never did a single thing for his family, that man sure did talk about them a lot,_ Fushimi thought bitterly. Though he had suffered through _that man_ reducing him to an animal all those years, he certainly wasn't going to stand for complete strangers doing it also.

The doorman restrained him, however, forcing him to continue forward. Just before the noisy crowd drowned out their chatter, Fushimi heard one more insult to the family name he never wanted to wear in the first place, "Hoh, look at him being escorted away! Must be here to pay off Daddy's gambling debt."

On the inside Fushimi was fuming with pent up resentment, but he knew in order to survive that night he would have to get family matters off his mind. It wasn't easy, and he felt like his fingernails had bored holes straight through his palms when an idea came to him. At that table, Hotaru had lingered a couple steps behind without the guard really caring. Maybe to him she wasn't anything more than a trophy, like was the conception of so many other macho men in these circles. If he caused a commotion, she could probably disappear unnoticed.

Unfortunately, she hadn't had the same idea and hurried to catch up to him. "More of your dad's friends?" She inquired from his side.

He barely acknowledged her question, instead crooning his neck to whisper into her ear, "This will be your only chance. When he's not looking, blend into the crowd."

"No way," she hissed back. He tried the same thing every time to get her to stay behind. "I won't let you exclude me at the climax!"

He knew the words were true and that she wouldn't back down until she got her way, so he would have to lie to keep her safe. "She might be here. When I'm done talking to these guys, we'll be thrown out for sure. I need you to stay here and look for her."

The doorman jammed his elbow under Fushimi's shoulder blade, "What are you two whispering about?"

"Girl stuff!" Hotaru blurted out something that made no sense.

After a mental facepalm, Fushimi covered for her mistake, "Her underwear was showing."

Her face filled with such embarrassment that the shade of red could be clearly seen even in the dark environment, and she whacked Fushimi with her purse for making up such a shameful story. "What's the point in whispering it privately to me, if you're just going to tell the whole club anyways?"

But somehow, the flicker of a smirk that appeared in one flash of light and was gone in the next made the humiliation worth reliving. The grim expression that followed frightened her because she realized that this charade was no joke. When they approached a part of the rooftop where the spectators standing around the stage bled out into the seating area, their escort had to keep a closer eye particularly on Fushimi. The latter made a show of tripping over a chair leg in the cramped path, making it seem that his phone was dislodged in the process, falling into the crowd on the right.

Even the doorman knew it was a plot of some sort, but his top priority was to bring this presumptuous boy to Torou. Without giving it a second thought, he chased Fushimi into the mass of spectators as Hotaru slowly backed away.

"Look, I was just after my phone," Fushimi protested with the device in his hand when the escort dragged him from the crowd by the arm. "I wasn't trying to run away. Seriously, what kind of moron would ask to talk to Torou and then run away?"

It didn't matter if the guy believed him or not. Hotaru had properly disappeared so that neither of them could find her by visual search alone. Frustrated that the trick had worked, the man pulled Fushimi along with extra force, so much so that Fushimi complained.

"Oi, I told you I won't run. I can walk by myself."

It was already too late for claims like that, though, and he continued to be led like a child until they reached the giant boombox at the far end of the dance floor. It made for a nice decoration while also conveniently hiding all the cables and technology involved in creating one of these EDM shows. What most people didn't know, however, was that inside the boombox were actually two rooms for particularly special parties. Positioned one behind each of the enormous faux speakers, which were actually one-sided panes of glass for those inside to watch the show without being seen, they were accessed from a door on the side that opened into a blindingly white hallway.

Floor and walls alike were lit by endless squares of fluorescent lights, held in by black frames. He squinted against the sudden brightness, but the man just shoved him along, taking him into the first room. At that, the doorman concluded his role as escort with a brief introduction.

"Here's the man you asked to have shown in. Name's Fushimi something-or-other." He waited around just to be given a tip for his effort before taking his leave. Said tip was delivered in the hands of one of four ochaya-style maiko who appeared to have been rented for the night and were also dismissed at that time.

Left in the room were three big shots, a few henchmen, and two women who clearly kept closer company with the Yakuza than mere entertaining girls. Nor were they dressed nearly as traditionally. One woman's hair was so bleached that it looked silvery blue, like fish scales. She wore a long chiffon dress with slits up to her hips and a plunging cowl neckline.

The other had an unsettlingly familiar bosom, emphasized by her signature black leather garb. The skin-tight pants put her on equal footing with the men in the room, while the erect collar and flowing coattails of her corset gave her the appearance of an evil witch from a kids' movie. It was bad enough that he was liable to be recognized by that woman, but he was almost positive that the jaw she caressed with her sharpened, plum nails was not that of Torou, but rather the leader of Ichiban himself, known only as Sato.

Torou was the man to the left of Sato who had sent his woman away long ago in order to give his undivided attention to the person threatening to kill him. His laid back posture and half smile showed he was not at all intimidated by the culprit, but then with the boss of Ichiban at his back, who would be?

His most distinguishing feature was a thin, anchor beard. With that, the ear piercing, and the flowing, silk shirt, he looked more like a pirate captain than a high level Yakuza manager. Fushimi must have been flooded with adrenaline because he took in all that information in the time it took for the teahouse ladies to shuffle out of the room.

The door locked from the outside so that only the one with the borrowed key could open it again.

Only then did the meeting proceed. After what had felt like an eternity, Dog Ear from the day before pointed accusingly. "That's the guy who said the supplier sent him!"

Torou stretched out a hand to silence him. It was the boss' turn to speak.

Sato chuckled lowly, "Well I can't say I've never heard the name Fushimi, but I do know I've never heard it in connection with any of our suppliers. Though, it is simple enough a question to settle once and for all. Taika, am I mistaken? Does this kid belong to you?"

The oldest of the three, who had been stroking the hair of the other female, minding his own business, looked Fushimi over and then answered, "No. Never seen him before."

"Now that we've established who you are _not,_ let's hear the truth."

Fushimi could feel the heat of his back against the door. This really was the worst possible scenario. If it wasn't for the island witch Sefina, he would just kill them all and remove the threat off of Hayashi's head. But that woman had at one time convinced the entire red clan that she was one of the seven kings, and she had even held her own for a short time against the formidable Suoh, Mikoto. One wrong move, and she'd have him lying numb on the floor in an instant.

For now there was at least a mock sense of cordiality, and he thought he should probably use that to his advantage while it lasted. "Ah... Fushimi, Saruhiko. Honored to meet you," he introduced himself with the same cold formality that was expected in Japanese society, however insincere, and bowed respectfully. After how many times his name had been confirmed that night, he couldn't exactly get away with an alias, so he knew that was the right answer, if nothing else.

"And you sent in this card," Torou spoke up then, fidgeting deliberately with the object in question, "that identifies you as 'greater than underscore.' Is that correct?"

"Yes, an-"

"What a strange name," Taika interjected. "Does it mean something?"

Torou clarified, "The boys said it's a computer thing. Something about commands and root directories. Not exactly my forte."

Again taking their input into consideration, Sato directed the flow of the conversation. "And this 'greater than underscore,' is it an individual or a group?"

"Just me," Fushimi answered, but just when he was getting ready to talk, they cut him off again.

"I gotta admit, it takes courage to show your face after promising to kill me." Torou commented, and the silence that followed beckoned an actual response this time.

"Please excuse the impertinent approach." He felt like he was begging, and it knotted his organs into one big mass. He wasn't being confident or forward at all, just a soggy coward. They were probably laughing at him, just toying with him a little before making the kill. "Unfortunately, the need to meet with you in person was too urgent to follow the usual procedures. I imagine you also didn't make it to the top without stepping on a few toes."

"The toes you stepped on could kill a man."

"The only ones who should kill, are those who are prepared to be killed," Fushimi retorted wryly. It was halfway a sarcastic admission that he had carelessly overstepped his own sphere, halfway a challenge to dirty their own hands without deferring to their lackeys. He didn't even notice he was quoting straight from an anime.

"Good, then we're on the same page," Torou agreed ominously. "What great cause have you come to die for alone?"

He knew the exact location of every person in the room; he knew each of their physical limitations, and exactly in which order to exploit them; he could feel the presence of each of the blades he had hidden; he even had memorized the pattern of the lasers which coincided with the muffled music. All of that and he couldn't move; he couldn't speak the answer to their question.

Even just to say her name, the sounds bottled up in his throat so that maybe "Haiza" actually came out, and he thought it was disgusting. He had accepted his likely fate, so his body shouldn't so shamefully fight it.

These men were nothing compared to the powers he faced everyday, nothing compared to the malicious, omnipresent avatar who had already put a price on Hayashi's head, even less when held up against the fiery Suoh, Mikoto whom Fushimi had eventually found a way to stand against in defense of...

In defense of what others called "a cause." Something inside of him snapped, and he laughed. He had already left behind the "just cause." As abruptly as the laughter began, it cut off, and Fushimi looked up at them with little slits of eyes beneath his hair.

"I'm not here for some pathetic cause," he spat. "I'm here because some single-celled organism I followed home from a bar sold you out. Because I have nothing to lose except for the person you took from me, and that's far more dangerous than a _cause._ "

"Did I hear wrong, or did he just threaten us again?" Though the tone still dripped with amusement Torou's face took a menacing plunge.

The nearest henchman lunged at the imposter who side stepped gracefully. Left handed and attacking from the left, he had to reach across his own body to grasp Fushimi's arm. That resulted in him facing toward the wall, making it a simple move for Fushimi to trip him from behind and slam his face through one of the fluorescent light fixtures, which shattered into a thousand plastic fragments.

"Piece of cake," he taunted. It was only one of several, but he felt much more aligned speaking through actions than with words.

Dog Ear was the oaf closest to his right side. Already having seen his limited talents, Fushimi ignored him in favor of the next two, a burly man with brass knuckles, and a little scrapper with a switchblade. A few of his own knives slipped between his fingers. Dodging one or the other wasn't a big deal, but with one who had no qualms about stabbing him in the back and the other burly enough to knock him out in one punch, he had to be careful with both.

The pair had a smooth way of fighting together, volleying their attacks to leave no room to breathe. If he ducked beneath a fist to the face, a knife would await him near the knees. He danced around them, saving his own skin without getting a chance to strike back. As he twirled away from a punch, the switchblade caught in a loose tail of his jacket, limiting further movement.

He slipped one arm out of his sleeve and used the other to wrap the sweater around the scrawny guy's ugly face. As he scrambled to free his head, he turned his back on Fushimi who shoved him away with a kick to the rear end.

Dog Ear didn't dare to butt in while those two double-teamed him so elegantly, but he charged rashly in to replace the preoccupied one. Fushimi replied by sending a knife close enough to nearly give him a matching scar on the other side of his head. Instead, it whizzed by, pinning the disrobed sweater to the wall to further inhibit the one trapped inside its fabric. In any case, Dog Ear hesitated to immediately jump in after that.

That provided him a much needed gap to ward off henchman number five.

The practitioner of Okinawan martial arts with a shaven head and a tonfa stepped in when it became apparent that Fushimi hadn't just brought a knife on a whim but actually had a chance using one. Fushimi knew how to counter that particular weapon and its style, having sparred with Bandou in the past. Of course, in all other battles he was accustomed to blocking with a power-charged hand or arm; whereas, here he had to conscientiously remind himself to deflect the wooden staff with a blade. Also, comparatively Bandou was no expert.

The bald man was not unskilled at all, using perfected techniques somewhat reminiscent of Lieutenant Awashima's practices in the dojo that he skipped out on as often as possible. Even her kendo lessons were basic when matched up against this man. His attacks came in rapid succession, using the tonfa to first cut down from above and then backhand him at the midsection.

In focusing all his attention on avoiding the wooden weapon, Fushimi neglected the well-built henchman behind him. That man turned him by the shoulder and punched him in the face with the strength of a bowling ball. The impact sent Fushimi stumbling backwards into the bald man, who quickly restrained him with the tonfa constricting his chest and arms.

The larger man let loose on the captive, landing blows on his face and abdomen. With his arms pinned to his sides, there was no way to defend himself against the pummeling. He tasted that unique metallic flavor build up in his mouth from a particularly jarring punch that made him bite his tongue.

When the man stepped within range, Fushimi raised a knee into his crotch, not at all afraid to fight dirty. He went down, and even though it was only a temporary debilitation, it saved the trapped boy's own heaving stomach. In response, the bald man swiped the offending leg behind his.

Dog Ear liked easy openings and tried to tag in again. Knowing he had to move quickly, he jabbed a knife into the only thing his immobile arms could reach, the Okinawan's upper thigh. The unexpected pain caused the man to loosen his grip slightly, and Fushimi ducked out, staggering over his tangled foot as he tried to evacuate the immediate vicinity. He was only three steps away when the tonfa slammed hard across his back from the man with incredible reaction time.

It knocked the air out of him, only serving to worsen his blurring vision. He scrambled to regain stability as Dog Ear charged him. He swatted the first blow away, deflecting it with his forearm. Upon the second one, he grabbed the wrist behind the punch. Using Dog Ear's own momentum, Fushimi flung him into the bulkier man.

The scrappy little one with hair in long clumps had escaped his cardigan prison and rejoined the scuffle, waving his switchblade around wildly. He was definitely the kind one couldn't look away from, even for a second. If Fushimi kept an eye on him, his slashes were easy to evade, but he demanded undivided attention.

While Fushimi tried to find a way to disarm him, the largest of the henchmen rejoined the original double-team, driving his elbow between a couple ribs. Fushimi responded with a low wheel kick to his knee before reacting to the pain, so that they both crumpled at once. Being outnumbered as he was, Fushimi couldn't afford to stay down. Still holding his side, he tried to climb back to his feet.

The scrapper was there waiting to keep him down, whipping the butt of his knife into Fushimi's temple. It ached with a throbbing pulse as blood seeped into his bangs. On the back swing, he caught the man's arm and snapped his wrist like a twig. It would be a long time before he could hold that knife again.

The loss of his weapon didn't dissuade the tawny little guy at all, and he snatched up a handful of Fushimi's hair with the opposite hand, ripping with full force. It threw the solo fighter rolling across the floor, slashing open the shirt off the burly guy - who was managing to stand with his weight mostly on leg - as momentum sent him straight into Sato's lap.

Having watched the fight like a spectator at an arena, legs crossed on the very same man's armrest, Sefina mentioned about the boy whose face had been thrust into the knees of a mob boss, "I'd venture to say he's here over a girl."

"Is that your intuition?" Sato asked her without moving an inch.

Fushimi sat back on his heels and groped about for his glasses briefly. His temporary blindness didn't give pause to the attackers breathing down his throat. He had barely repositioned the spectacles when an arm reached around his neck for a headlock. Thankfully, it was the Okinawan and not Dog Ear or the other bulky one or he'd have no shot.

"A wager," Sefina corrected. "Only a woman's lure could drive a man this mad."

The commentary continued while Fushimi battled on, and the complete monotony of it roiled his guts, as if they were watching a movie instead of real bloodshed. He knew the center of gravity of his current opponent well enough to act by then. Flinging his head back into the man's nose gave him a momentary shock. Then, he tucked one shoulder and hefted the man over it, down to the floor. That would have been impossible with someone any larger. Fushimi was quick and lithe, not strong.

"Ah but you're not her lover, are you?" Sato addressed him directly, knowing his ears had picked up every word. "Since you can't even say her name. Sounds like a standard third-wheel story. You'll die in the shadows for her, and she'll never even know. Something like that, right? Then die pretty for us."

With one foot holding his attacker's chest to the ground, Fushimi pointed an accusatory dagger at Sato and snarled. "There are two other groups significantly stronger than you who are also seeking that person's life. I don't intend to drop and die on _your_ command."

A gun came out behind him. He heard the click of a round loading into the chamber, followed by the dunce comment, "What, you too scared to go after the stronger guys first?"

 _Dog Ear sure didn't have much wit_ , Fushimi thought as he whirled around to launch a different knife at the source of the sound of the gun. It sailed end over end and pierced straight through his palm, tip protruding out the other side. Understandably, he dropped the gun to nurse the wound.

"Here's the thing," the mob boss pointed out, not acting the least bit threatened, "our line of work brings us into conflict with quite a large number of people. Unless you clarify, I'm afraid I won't know who has got you so upset." The political words came smoothly, as if dealing with a dissatisfied customer rather than the devilish avenger panting stuttered breaths.

Fushimi turned back to the leader addressing him who was still just off the end of his blade - though the exotic woman had moved away from his side. "Where is Hay'shi?"

The leader of Ichiban was lightly phased to hear that particular name, but he didn't seem surprised in the least. Torou shifted uncomfortably because that girl's mess was on his head.

Sato questioned non-incriminatingly, "What makes you think I know?"

"I know there were only two names in town when she was doing this work, so she's certainly seen your laundry. That when she showed back up on the stage in Yamamoto, Kenji's car you thought it was a great chance to clean house."

A thin hand reached around the base of his skull, fingers spreading to the nerves behind either ear where _that man_ used to squeeze out a sick greeting, but she did not press hard. "Now, don't be rash," she stated, and he suddenly began to feel dizzy.

It felt as if every muscle controlled by his central nervous system gradually went limp, forcing him to slump back to his knees. The knife fell from his flaccid grip with a clank. He hadn't experienced that debilitating weakness in years, which caught him off guard, and never from a hand as powerful as hers.

All sound was muffled and distant through the fog. First, there was a ringing that he thought was in his own ears until a voice answered it, revealing that it was a phone. Then an ominous, blurred, "Bring him to me."

Sefina's question echoed as if a mile away, "What was that?"

"They found the guy who's been knocking out my men," Sato explained, flipping the case shut over his phone's screen. He pointed to his inferior. "He's also been asking for you. We'll meet them down at the warehouse."

Torou protested, "What are we going to do about this one? We have to make a lesson out of him, so that no one takes Ichiban for fools."

Sefina resolved the issue, offering while she continued to hold Fushimi at her side like an obedient dog, "Give me the pleasure of finishing up here. You have somethings to tie up before you can leave. I'll be ready to join you by the time you pull the car around front."

That solution was acceptable, so they took their leave in separate ways. Taika took his fish-haired girl and headed out to enjoy the rest of the party, and the Ichiban members left in a foreboding silence. Sefina kept the Okinawan and the little scrapper with the broken wrist, leaving the two larger henchmen to carry out their fellow worker whose face had been slammed into the wall at the start.

Only then did the woman loosen her grip on Fushimi's neck so that his mind could _start_ to clear. She knelt down in front of the young man whose eyes drooped in a desperate attempt to remain conscious, and she spoke to him about colors.

"So you are the one who defected from Homra to join the Blues? Oh don't look so confused! I could feel it inside you, resisting my influence, even though you struggled valiantly to keep from using either one. That was wise of you. So Hayashi? You, that skateboarder, and her were the ones behind the foiling of my plans some years ago, weren't you?"

Having regained most of the feeling in his face, Fushimi spat a bit of his own knowledge, "Weren't you ordered to abdicate the throne, since it never belonged to you in the first place?"

"Oh? You've learned a thing or two working for that self-righteous idealist. I suppose it was inevitable."

"It makes no sense," Fushimi muttered to himself, inhibitions remaining numb longer than the inclination to solve puzzles. "You had clansmen."

Seeing that he was coming to just fine, the former _Black Queen_ stood to present her exposition to a semi-captive audience while she paced. "You see, I too was once the youngest member of a clan; a powerful strain not unlike that doll you once cherished. I know what it's like to have experienced...the loss of a king. Once upon a time, I was a child taken under the wing of CATHEDRAL. They were a family to me, and I was their princess, the one with the ability to extend their cloud of protection - that is, to grant the power of this aura to whomever I chose without the involvement of the king.

"It was, indeed, unfortunate that the entire clan was destroyed in the Kagutsu incident. On the other hand, that is how I came to take this crown upon myself. That is my fairy tale. To live happily ever after, living however I please, as a queen. I would have had my happy ending if it weren't for you boys. The Red and the Blue, always promoting their paths as more just than any other. And the Gold King too, for that matter, was always interfering in other people's lives."

Fushimi thought he could feel his legs and began to stand. He didn't like the idea of kneeling before anyone, much less a fraudulent king. He wasn't the only one to regain his feet, however, as the Okinawan ground him immediately back to hands and knees with his tonfa now coated in debilitating haze.

The exchange was unacknowledged by Sefina, who continued, "So to answer your question: did I not step down from the throne? No. I was never a king. Did I sign that paper-pushing weasel's contract saying we will not continue to function as an organized clan? Sure. But that doesn't change this endless power that courses through my veins, nor the fact that every last one of them would voluntarily draw upon it at my command. And sometimes I can't help but let a little out."

Feeling the truth of that statement, Fushimi struggled to breathe between choked coughs. With no reason to hold the aura back any longer, he tried to push the fog away with the restorative blue power. It only flickered ineffectively.

She responded to his bitter scowl. "Don't complain that it's unfair how strong we are. You chose this path. Although, you aren't so weak yourself."

Fushimi sat back on his heels as he had been prior to his attempt to stand and questioned, "What are you doing with the Yakuza?"

"I miss the control, the thrill of ruling and manipulating subjects. This liason offers me opportunity to play." She brushed Fushimi's hair, tacky with coagulants, from his forehead, and he snapped his face away from her hand almost painfully. "You would make an interesting toy," she commented. "Unfortunately, my time is up. Give my regards to your king."

He was permitted to watch her strut off for a moment. Then, with a flick of her wrist, her loyal soldier smashed in the back of his head. His vision swam briefly before fading away to pure black.

* * *

 _ **Hope y'all enjoyed a little psycho Fushimi and a very unfair fight. Drop us a hello or something :). Until next time...**_


	29. A Second Encounter

_**Hope we didn't leave you all in suspense for too long (not that this chapter will put an end to our wicked cliffhangers). By the way, how'd you all like the explanation last chapter for how Sefina was calling herself Black King when that wasn't one of the seven colors? We tried our best to recanonize our story!**_

 _ **Anyhow, enjoy!**_

* * *

The phone call to Awashima had left Kusanagi even more concerned than before. She had no idea that Fushimi was involved in such things, which meant it wasn't for any _official_ business. Furthermore, she admitted that she hadn't seen him in a few days. Kusanagi promised to keep an eye on him for her that night and ended the call. As the dialer app closed, a notification informed him of a missed call and voicemail from Chitose back upstairs. The conversation had lasted longer than intended since Awashima confirmed she was unaware of the situation.

Seeing as he was headed right back up, he decided there was no need to listen to Chitose's message and slipped the device into the pocket of his jeans. As he turned to re-enter the high rise through the maintenance door, however, he heard a commotion around back. Stopping short of the corner, he pressed himself against the side wall and searched discretely for the source.

Two grumpy men were begrudgingly carrying a large weight between them toward the designated trash pick up area. That in itself was hardly suspicious, but both of them were recently injured, and what they were carrying sagged awkwardly in the middle. Kusanagi thought it looked very much like a body.

The phone in his pocket vibrated to announce another call, but he couldn't risk revealing himself by answering.

Kusanagi thought seriously about accosting the men. In the end, they were only goons doing someone else's work, though. Besides, the deed was already done; stepping in at that moment wouldn't spare anyone from harm. Therefore, he waited until they tossed the body, with great effort, toward the trash and left it there on the ground. After they went back inside, he approached cautiously.

The body belonged to a tall, slender man with particularly pale skin, and choppy, black hair. Kusanagi only had to cross half the distance to recognize who had been discarded in the street. He hastened his steps toward the very subject of his recent conversation.

Abandoning all thoughts of clan loyalty and resentment over so-called betrayal, he knelt beside a person who would always be _a kid who had once been in his charge._ "Fushimi-kun, Fushimi-kun," he called quietly, nudging the body with a hand.

When the boy made no response, he assumed the prerogative to examine him thoroughly. The good news was that he was breathing. His vital signs checked out fine, and - while his breaths were shallow and pained - there seemed no indication that they would stop any time soon.

The good news ended there. He had definitely taken a severe beating to his core and face. Blood oozed slowly from his forearm and temple, mostly being sopped up by his sleeve and his bangs, but yet to coagulate fully. Another trail trickled from the corner of his mouth, which could indicate internal bleeding in the lungs, but since he heard no choking or gurgling in the breathing, it was most likely a mouth wound. The punch to the jaw currently swelling purple and red was the suspected cause.

Kusanagi rolled him over to get a look at the injuries on his front, and Fushimi moaned in complaint. He called the latter's name again, this time with reward. The boy's heavy eyelids parted slowly, his eyes lolled around searching to find focus, and then he closed them again. It wasn't much, but it was something.

The front of his body was equally battered, and Kusanagi decided he needed to get the kid out of that alley. It would be a long time before he was alert and able to defend himself. In that kind of place, someone would for sure rob or otherwise take advantage of a person in his condition. Plus, Kusanagi always kept the materials needed to patch people up in the back of his van.

Grunting as his old man knees creaked in protest, Kusanagi lifted Fushimi onto his shoulder - he also grabbed the black-framed glasses from the ground at the same time so he wouldn't have to squat down twice. The garage where he parked the van was a little far, and the added dead weight made the walk seem extra long. The phone rang twice more along the way, but he had no hands with which to answer it.

With the glasses in his mouth he was able to fumble with his keys in his left hand to unlock the back door. After that, at long last he was able to let go the burden of carrying another adult. As slim as Fushimi may be, he was still a grown man. Bearing him that long distance resulted in dropping him less than gently to the floor of the van.

Kusanagi climbed in after him with a mild apology, which Fushimi actually heard, the jarring landing having woken him up temporarily. He got bandages, gauze pads, antiseptic, and medical tape out from a drawer and returned to Fushimi's side to begin treating him. He also pulled out his phone to finally listen to his voicemail on speakerphone while he worked.

A lady's automated voice informed, "You have four new messages. First new message:"

Chitose's voice filled her pause. "Hey the other guys are starting to wonder what's taking you so long."

It was brief, not incredibly concerned. Kusanagi didn't think much of it and continued cleaning off Fushimi's head wound while the automated lady gave him options regarding that message. Even in his unconscious state, Fushimi's muscles still tensed upon physical contact.

The second new message had come while he was spying on the goons. Chitose again, "Where did you put the fish sauce after you used it last? I can't find it anywhere."

 _It was a little too late to do anything about that now,_ he thought. He chuckled a little at the image of his partner running around in the hectic environment, trying to do the work of two people. It was a harmless kind of stressful, and he knew Chitose would understand. He also knew he'd have to do something to make it up to him.

The third message was a little more desperate. "Where the hell are you? We're swamped up here!"

"I know, I know," Kusanagi muttered to himself as he got up to find some cooling ointment for the swelling on Fushimi's face and the huge welt on his back he only found after removing the shirt.

The fourth and final message was left in a sober, hushed voice. "I just talked to Fushimi's girlfriend. Those guys behind the stage, they're Ichiban from Torou's division. What's more, they're the ones after Hayashi. I really don't like the sound of this." He paused briefly and then seemed to have a second thought, "Actually, are _you_ okay? Ah who am I kidding? Of course _you're_ fine. Just call me back this time, okay?"

"End of messages," the automated lady informed, and Kusanagi ended the call.

He talked to the unconscious Fushimi while he finished up the treatment. "So you finally found someone you like, huh? You're a good man to keep her out of the mess you've made, whatever it is you're up to. Going after Hayashi maybe? Must be something pretty bad if you'd go through all this just to find her."

Having done all that was possible to make Fushimi safe and comfortable in spite of his condition, Kusanagi patted him once on the knee and stood to put away his first aid tools. "Well, we'll talk more once you're awake," he concluded. "I've got a job to get back to."

At that, he left the van, securely locking Fushimi in the back for his own protection, and headed back to the party. He had already forgotten the excitement and joy of what could have been the night of his dreams. Things had turned very sour in the story _full of happiness._ On the walk back, he finally returned Chitose's call.

The latter answered eagerly, "Oi Kusanagi-san, where have you been?"

"I'm on my way now," he assured. "We have a lot to talk about."

A moment of silence passed between the two. It wasn't complete silence because on Kusanagi's end were the sounds of a busy street, and the party could be heard raging behind Chitose. Additionally, the other employees were trying to throw in their own input to the conversation. Chitose himself, however, simply took in the tone of his boss' voice: short, vague, tired, and worried.

"Is everything alright?" He eventually asked calmly.

Kusanagi's answer was not very reassuring, "For now."

Chitose acknowledged it with a quick, "Mm," but he had to keep his attention on work for the time being. "See you soon, then?"

"Yeah," Kusanagi agreed distantly, and they both hung up.

* * *

In his haste to reach the dojo with emergency supplies, Doi crashed right into an inattentive Awashima. He accidentally dropped an object and reached down to grab it as he muttered a, "Sorry, excuse me," that as usual no one heard. He truly had to hurry, meaning he couldn't stick around for a proper apology. It didn't look like she was just standing there waiting for one, either, so he quickly ran off with the impression that she had no idea he had even been there.

There was an emergency with the refugee strains where one had suddenly become very ill. Their face had become a palish grey with heavy set eyes, extreme weakness, and a fever. When the agents found out about the issue, the Intelligence and General Affairs Divisions came together to brainstorm a solution, not even really knowing the cause. With their top scientist and their resident genius MIA, progress was moving slowly.

Doi had been the one to notice one was missing. The aura dampening bracelets sent wireless reports to their servers with vital signs and location information. That was what had indicated someone wasn't well; it was also how he knew the number of enabled persons in the dojo was one too few. Not that anyone noticed when he pointed it out.

Someone had stepped away from their computer, and Doi slipped in to look something up quickly. The case files confirmed his suspicion, and he rushed off to fix the problem while the others continued to wrack their brains.

Doi arrived at the back room of the dojo with a armful of supplies in duplicate, mostly water and ice packs. The strains were huddled around their own, a young boy with an effeminate face - plump lips, gorgeous eyelashes, and narrow hips - each showing their varying level of concern by their distance from the child. Kory and the runner were taking the most active roles to make their fellow strain comfortable. Doi entered their circle unassumingly.

He was already in their midst when the runner's quick reflexes sensed his presence. Glaring suspiciously at the representative of their caregivers for having poorly done their job, she questioned, "What happened to your promise to protect us?"

Lacking in assurance, Doi shrank back from her accusation and uttered a barely audible apology, something about "an oversight."

The older of the females inquired with less vehemence and more disinterest, "So you know what's wrong with the kid - or kids?"

"I believe so," Doi affirmed, clutching his supplies to his chest. "When the general field dampener was in place over the whole building, what state were they in? Separate as twins, or merged singularly?"

Catching on to the idea, Kory answered, "Oh yeah, now that you mention it, they were apart all along. That must be their true, natural state."

With the problem confirmed, Doi knelt down with a device resembling a barcode scanner, which deactivated the bracelet. "The records describe them as twins born several minutes apart, but without reading the files carefully, it was easy to overlook in our haste to get the situation under control."

He roused them, then, encouraging them to separate. Afterwards, he reinstalled an aura cancelling bracelet for each of them and began to care for their symptoms of malaise. "The internal rending must have been draining."

While he worked, Kory took the chance to wonder, "How much longer do you think it will take for you guys to get this rebellion under control. Not complaining, or anything, but isn't this kinda supposed to be your specialty?"

"Uh...well," Doi tried to think of a way not to answer, but as the only agent, he had an obligation to respond. "The captain put Fushimi-san in charge of this particular case, and well...no one has seen him in three or four days, so we haven't really been making progress at all."

A murmur spread through the strains like a crew contemplating mutiny, and Kory responded in disbelief, "Fushimi abandoned his job?"

"Ah," Doi realized the impression he was giving their guests was a negative one and attempted to correct it, "I didn't say that. I said we _don't know_ what he's doing. But certainly if he had 'abandoned' the job, which is something no one could imagine Fushimi-san doing, the captain would have assigned someone else to take the lead. Since he hasn't, it is probably just a delay."

The runner was suspicious of such unconvincing defenses, pointing out, "You don't even believe what you're saying."

"Well..." He attempted to divert their attention back to the slowly recovering twins, but even those two pierced him with their identical, weary eyes.

Groaning, the runner complained, "We're never going to get out of here."

Her elder crossed one leg over the other and soothed, "Your perception of time is distorted by your speed, Dear. You're exaggerating."

"I've also been here twice as long as you!"

"We're talking about a couple of days, not a lifetime."

Kory interrupted their petty bickering as a leader with a suggestion, "Unless we handle it ourselves."

Everyone looked at him with curious glances, so he explained his thought, still sitting on the floor in socks and highwater jeans, "They came after us, right? Every one of us was tracked down and targeted by these strains because they wanted us on their side. They think our powers are worthwhile. They kill those who refuse because we're a threat if not on their side."

"Of course they are threatened by me," Prince declared valiantly. "Royalty inspires fear in the lawless!"

"His ramblings aside," the runner dismissed with a waving gesture, "do you really think we could take them on?"

"Together, I do," Kory confirmed. "Alice here has her looking glass reflections to match their mirage-maker. 'Prince' could make even the strong one fall to his knees. You're probably the only person fast enough to keep up with Stretch Armstrong who joined their side."

"How do you even know all that?" Doi questioned.

As if just remembering he was even there, the enabled woman mentioned, "You shouldn't be making plans in front of one of the blues, since it would be breaking our 'oath of non-aggressivity.' He could lock us up on conspiracy charges."

"Hmm," the runner agreed, "wouldn't that be just like their king? To freely allow delays and then arrest us for taking action."

"I'm not going to arrest you," Doi assured, adding under his breath, "unless you become a threat to justice. I only asked how you know."

Kory sighed, "And I suppose refusing to answer your question would constitute me as a 'threat to justice.' When the power went out, I was curious about the progress of the mission. I may have dug around a little."

The clansman shook his head, "No, that last bit you said, that's not in any Scepter 4 documents. We didn't know that yet."

That put the technopath ill at ease. The blue expected him to be more specific with his source, which made his lady friend right. Mentioning any of this in front of one of them had been a bad idea. He measured his next words more carefully.

"The internet is a big place."

Doi was still suspicious. "In such a 'big place' you could pick that information out of everything else in the brief power outage while also dancing and manipulating the music player?"

"Sure, if you know where to look, it's no big deal."

"It wouldn't happen to be a mechanics' shop, would it?" Doi muttered.

"A mec...?" Kory began to repeat in surprise. "I was talking about the internet, but you actually know where they are? Why aren't you guys doing anything if you know where they are?"

"No one else knows," the unassuming officer complained. "Captain Munakata said I could only tell my direct superior officer, and Fushimi-san won't listen at all."

Kory let his head fall abruptly into his palm. "That stubborn fool. Have you considered sending it to him in a text message? He never takes his eyes off that phone."

Doi laughed. "That would be unconventional, possibly even considered insubordinate. But... There's no doubt it would work. His number is probably listed in our records..."

"Well do it then!" The runner encouraged impatiently. "So we can go home already!"

"I think I will," he agreed enthusiastically. "I'll have to go look up his contact information, but I believe it's safe to leave you now? The twins should be fine from here on out."

"Yeah, we'll take it from here," Kory affirmed with a cheesy thumbs up.

Doi gathered what was left over of the items he had brought with him in preparation of leaving, but on second thought, he added one last comment. "I feel I should warn you, if you do conspire to take on the rebels yourselves, that nullifies our responsibility to protect you. It may not be possible to admit you back into the asylum program. Please continue to put your trust in the system. The captain does not disappoint."

Once he was gone, the group of strains looked to Kory for direction. He shrugged. "What's a few more days? It's not _that bad_ here..."

Still, he couldn't get the offer out of his mind. _10%_ _of what Tokyo Central Bank keeps on hand in its vault_ _in exchange for Scepter 4's full registrar of enabled persons._ It was a tantalizing opportunity and so easy to procure. The time to the deadline ticked by quickly. He fingered the power dampening bracelet around his wrist that was keeping him from falling into temptation. He didn't want to take sides in this war of tyranny versus anarchy, but if he had to choose, that money was nothing to spit at.

In the end, what brought him to Scepter 4 was what also kept him there: he was more than willing to get his hands dirty with all sorts of illegal deals, but he drew the line at murder. He couldn't rightfully sell them a list of people they had a 50/50 chance of killing.

He glanced around at the little group of strains that for some reason looked up to him and smiled reassuringly. "It's late. Let's hit the sack."

* * *

Yata cracked his eyes and blinked a few times in confusion, unsure of whether he had actually opened them at all since it was so dark. Slowly, ever so slowly, his eyes moved up from the floor where his cheek was pressed to survey his surroundings but without moving his head at all. Once he looked up, though, he saw a familiar figure with their back to him, the green piping on the pants and neon ends of the hair bright against the shadows.

"Hayashi…" he breathed in surprise, relief, and exhaustion all at once.

She turned to face him, a gentle smile finding its way to her lips where their eyes met. "Hey, Red, time to get up."

Yata disagreed. He didn't sleep well when his friends were in danger and for some reason that was taking a worse toll now than ever before. He was content to lay right where he was for the moment.

Azami's smile grew into a grin and she rolled her eyes as she walked toward him and urged in a tone that was less than amused, "C'mon, Homra, you need to get up."

He was pretty sure he couldn't even if he wanted to. He could barely keep his eyes open and he'd been trying to wipe at his face for the past few seconds with no movement from his hand.

The Green Girl reached him and bent down to shake him, a more urgent feel coming through her words as she encouraged, "C'mon, Red, it's time. Come _on_ , you gotta—Yata, you _have to_ —"

He suddenly became aware that he had closed his eyes again and she now sounded near panic. For some reason he felt a bit of fear tighten his chest and he struggled to open his eyelids again. As he squinted up at her, her appearance flickered like flashes of lightning between the girl he knew and a much more horrible sight until all that was left was something else entirely.

The girl who crouched next to him was dressed in a short bodycon dress like he'd seen a couple hookers wearing on the street corners in this neighborhood. He would have looked away if he could have forced his stare away from the pull of the wide yet disturbing, hollow brown eyes sunken into a thin face shrouded by long, stringy black hair. It was still Hayashi, but only if she had been turned into a zombie and that terrified him more than anything else.

And then she reached forward and gripped his shoulder tightly as she shrieked in a very un-Hayashi-like voice, " _Get up!_ "

Yata jerked awake with a gasp which promptly sent him into a coughing fit as he smelled something awful. He swatted at the hand holding a small vial in front of his face and swiveled his head to blearily take in his environment. All he really saw, though, were all the men partially surrounding him and getting a good laugh at his return to the land of the living.

"Nice of you to join us, kid!" someone shouted.

The Red Clansman backpedaled across the floor until his shoulders met the cushioned frame of a ratty couch. The voices were too loud, the lights too bright, the smells too overpowering—his senses were overloaded and the gangsters around him laughed harder at the look of fear on his face. His eyes were wide, glancing between each one present while his tight chest heaved with the feeling that he wasn't getting enough air.

"What's wrong, Homra?" another man jeered. "Don't feel like putting up a fight?"

Yata definitely would have liked to pound the laughs right out of them, but as it was, he could barely feel his legs. That would have to wait a few minutes. Fortunately, or perhaps not so much, two of the men approached him and very kindly dragged him to his feet, one with a firm hold on each arm.

"C'mon, tough guy, someone wants to meet with you," said one and then pulled him toward a door on the far side of the room.

Yata struggled as best he could, tugging back on his arms, but he still couldn't seem to plant his feet with how dizzy he was. It's not that he didn't want to meet whoever was there anyway—if it wasn't Torou himself, then it was probably someone high in rank who could lead him to his goal—he just wanted to do it on his own terms. The men laughed at his attempts and intentionally jostled him back and forth between them until they reached the door and unceremoniously shoved him through.

Inside was what could have been called an office or a meeting room with two more couches around a coffee table and several armchairs on the opposite end. Occupying two of these was a guy who appeared to be dressing like a pirate and another in a clean white suit who clearly ranked highest out of everyone. The two men escorting him forced him to sit on the couch closer to the crime bosses but facing perpendicular so he didn't have a direct line of sight. It didn't deter Yata, however, as he craned his head to keep his eyes fixed on them at all times because the two men were not the most surprising of the individuals.

No, the most startling guest was an exotic, dark-skinned woman with braids and clad in tight leather. As soon as their eyes met, the initial surprise slipped from her face and she smirked in an almost predatory way so that he expected fangs to be bared. Fortunately, this development was exactly the push he required to get back some strength. The possible need to protect himself focused his mind and he pulled at the uneasy heat in his gut until his being started glowing red.

The henchmen who had mocked him moments before hurriedly backed away now as tongues of flame began to lick at their restraining hands. He wasn't quick enough, though, and while he smirked at the frightened hired help there suddenly came the clicking of heels behind him and a feminine hand landed softly on his shoulder. Yata had a brief but very clear memory of being rendered powerless and easily being slammed into stone before his red aura simmered into nothingness.

He wasn't left unconscious or disoriented this time, but he definitely couldn't call up enough flame to dispose of the threats around him, especially not when the former Black King took a casual seat next to him, her arm around his shoulders to keep him at bay. Even if he wanted to move away when her bust came into close proximity and her crossed legs made contact with his, she wouldn't permit it and he was left with only one option: that of attempting a less-than-intimidating glare.

"Calm down, handsome," she commanded with a light laugh. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

The guy in the silk shirt chuckled. "I think that's what everyone wants."

"I believe she meant meeting with us," the man in the suit corrected, but he also had an amused smirk on his face as he got down to business. "So, as I'm sure you have assumed, I am Sato, the leader of Ichiban." He gestured to the pirate to his right. "This is one of my men, Torou—the one you've been so violently involved with tracking down, in fact, but I'm sure you've guessed that already as well. And you, the thorn in my side, what should I call you?"

Yata's lips parted to answer and he was taken aback by how dry his mouth felt and the uncanny sensation of his pulse on the tip of his tongue. Sefina must have noticed his plight because she stroked his cheek and soothed, "Don't worry, boy, that will return to you shortly." Then to Sato she announced, "This is Homra's Yatagarasu."

Sato's eyes took on a dark glint and he smiled smugly. "Oh, the vanguard, is it? What business does Homra have in our territory?"

"I have a feeling we know the answer to that already as well," Sefina offered, and when curious eyes fell on her, she admitted, "I had a moment of clarity on the way over. This one and Hayashi are a troublesome duo; in fact, I heard they were a regular problem during that business I had with Homra. I think they must have gotten pretty close, hmm?" She gave Yata's shoulders a squeeze.

Sato sighed and shook his head. "There are so many concerned with disrupting my dealings with Hayashi..."

"What for?" Torou scoffed from his side.

"Have you ever met her personally?" Sefina demanded of him, her chin held high as the feminist side of her disapproved of his condescending tone toward another female, no matter that the girl in question could be described as her enemy. There was a reason women held positions of authority under her leadership. "From what my ninjas tell me, she's a feisty one and quite skilled." Then she followed up with a blow to take his ego down a notch. "Though I doubt you've had much experience with that."

Torou laughed and gave her a ' _calm down_ ' gesture while he and Sato shared a sidelong look and a smirk. "Oh yeah, we know all about Hayashi."

Yata had been getting thoroughly tired of being spoken of like he was a child this whole time, but the tone Torou used just then caused his stomach to clench and brought his voice back to him. His glare intensified and he barked, "I came to tell you to lay off Hayashi."

The amusement ceased abruptly and Sato's eyes flashed dangerously. "Oh, you came to _tell_ me, did you?"

Yata pressed on firmly, "She didn't have anything to do with the car wreck. It was all that shitty driver you hired."

Sato cocked his head toward his henchman. "We've dealt with Kenji accordingly, no?"

Torou nodded, his face showing a little concern at this turn of events which he tried to hide. "He said Hayashi was still in the car when he came to get us."

There was no point in lying so Yata affirmed, "She was—not like she had a choice. That dumbass got her crushed in the back seat!"

The leader of Ichiban had displeasure written all over his face, but Yata couldn't tell if it was because of the vanguard's rudeness or if he had been deprived of the whole story. He was really struggling with his ability to read people right now. Whatever the case, Sato inquired, "Why should I listen to anything said by a boy with an infatuation?"

That was a strong word for the situation, and if his mind wasn't already swimming, he might have blushed at the suggestion. As it was, though, he was doing his best to hang onto his anger and keep his head on a little straighter. He could feel beads of sweat collecting at the back of his neck while his left leg had begun to bounce in agitation without his permission and, to be honest, he was pretty sure it was from whatever drugs were still in his system and not from the Black King wrapped around him or his concern for Azami. He was going to make his demands and say his peace—it was the truth, after all—but he needed to end this engagement somehow.

"Because I found her there," he said. "I pulled her out right before it went over the cliff."

Sato's face turned to stone and he questioned sinisterly, "You pushed it over a cliff?"

"The hell I did!" snapped Yata. They weren't going to falsely incriminate him, too. "The rain turned the ground to shit. I couldn't have stopped it even if I wanted to, and that wasn't Hayashi's fault either. The only thing she's guilty of is being stupid enough to get into the car in the first place."

Well, Sato couldn't argue on that point. In fact, he had given thought to the likelihood that, after the way her last order of business with them had concluded, Hayashi wouldn't have joined Kenji if she had known who his new employer was. That thought, however, was quickly followed by the possibility that she had found out what Sato had ordered be done with her handler Yukio and had taken or destroyed the shipment as an act of revenge. After all, no one could really say for certain what happened to her once she disappeared from the underworld. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin in thought while studying the boy before him. There was still one important detail that weighed on his mind.

"If she did nothing wrong, why is she in hiding? Why wouldn't she confront me herself rather than sending you?"

"She didn't send me; I dunno where she is," Yata replied and looked away, his insides turning. "Because you're not the only one looking for her."

"So it's as Fushimi said," Sefina remarked to Sato.

"Fushimi?" Yata repeated, his head popping up and for once the name passing his lips without contempt. "You met with Fushimi, too?"

Sato smiled wolfishly at Sefina. "Briefly." He offered no more, and with that he stood up and straightened his white suit jacket. "At this point, I'm afraid we must bring our current interaction to a close. I have much business to attend to tonight, you see."

Out of a little of her own curiosity while also taking pity on Homra's vanguard, Sefina wondered aloud, "Are you going to stop pursuing Hayashi?"

"No, no, of course not," Sato replied with a chuckle. " _Someone_ will still have to pay for the damage in the end. But he's given me some additional factors to consider when the time comes."

He held out his hand and Yata blinked owlishly at it in confusion until Torou also stood up to go. _A handshake? Really? After his behavior?_ He accepted it just for the sake of escaping further unwanted touches by the former Black Queen. He did still need some help for the moment, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"Well, Yatagarasu, I would say it's been a pleasure, but although informative, it really hasn't."

Suddenly Yata found himself doubled over as a sucker punch from the mob boss landed solidly in his abdomen. Already weak from Sefina's aura, it could have brought him to his knees if Sato didn't keep a firm hold on his shoulder. He coughed harshly as the yakuza ground his fist into his stomach and leaned down to murmur in his ear while taking a tight grip on the side of his neck to make sure he hear every word.

"Don't lay your hands on anymore of my men. If you do, next time I'll have you shot with something more lethal."

This warning was followed by a sharp blow to the side of his face, courtesy of Torou and presumably for the vengeance of his employees whom Yata had thrashed. Then as the mob boss and his henchman moved away, the Red Clansman found himself still standing and realized that the darkening around his vision was not from the hits, but the woman whose hand had replaced Sato's on his shoulder. Ah, yes, there it was—the numbing mist he had remembered _oh too well_. As he finally dropped to his knees, he wondered blearily where he would wake up this time…

* * *

 _ **Any guesses on where Yata wakes up next? Also, who wakes up first? 'Til next time~**_


	30. They All Think He Knows

_**We're back! This chapter took a while to make, mostly because it was a coming together of so many different characters. Please enjoy!**_

* * *

Fushimi's eyes cracked slowly, greeted by the roof of a van and a crushing headache. There was a buzzing in his ears like the low snore of a sleeping computer. For a moment he thought he was having a dream - that one where he's chasing an unidentifiable strain and crawls into the back of one of Scepter 4's trucks to die in a pool of blood. But that wasn't quite right.

Those computers were of a model much older than the tech a government agency would keep on hand. The lighting was bad. It was just some work van that had been retrofitted. He was nearly convinced it was his turn to be thrown off a cliff in the forest and abandoned for dead.

He groped around instinctively for his glasses, an engrained reflex upon waking up, and found them folded nicely beside his head next to an unopened bottle of water. Twisting his upper body to reach them sent a stabbing pain through his chest like an abrupt wake up call.

"Definitely not a dream," he groaned to himself, laying back as he had been originally.

With the spectacles in their proper place, his vision was almost clear. He couldn't see much aside from the ceiling unless he wanted the pounding in his head to amplify tenfold, but even with just that, he recognized whose van it was.

"Kusanagi-san," he said through his teeth like it might as well have been a cuss word.

It should have been evident from the start who had brought him to this place. After all, he had flashes of a memory of seeing him after the fight. _Who does he think I am, treating me like nothing ever changed? We're enemies now,_ Fushimi thought to himself while lying on his back like someone stargazing. Though he scorned Kusanagi's generosity as pity, he continued to take advantage of it. At least until he could stand on his feet. Not a second longer.

After all, he knew Kusanagi, and Kusanagi would have called Lieutenant Awashima as an informant. She could show up any minute at the back door of the van with a whole task force of uniformed officers and their formalistic words of concern. Those were the humiliations that came along with being part of the blue clan. If she found him, however, she would most definitely not allow him to continue his search.

Two weeks recuperation and being restricted to desk work, and Hayashi would be a chalk outline in a blood covered alley. _Misaki too,_ he realized, thinking back to the phone call that had put an early end to his encounter with Ichiban's leaders. That idiot was about to get his ass kicked too.

"Like you're one to talk," he scolded himself with a single, facetious laugh that turned into a cough. The concussive vibrations seized him with debilitating pain.

He could hear the voices of people walking by the vehicle - it was a parking garage, after all - and it reemphasized how urgently he needed to get up. With most of the injury being too his head and core, he should have no trouble walking, except for the dizziness and jarring sensation of every movement. He gave himself thirty more seconds and then forced himself to his feet no matter how it felt.

Quite wobbly, he staggered to the back door, not really sure how to open it from the inside. He found, as could be expected with people like those in Homra, that a small chunk of interior had been cut out to reveal the inner workings of the lock mechanism. Pulling the latch manually, he swung the door open and nearly faceplanted when his depth perception failed to properly indicate the distance from the bumper to the ground.

The black fog - grey fog? strain fog?- had renounced its hold on him. It shouldn't be so difficult to move, yet he had to carefully monitor each step, dragging his feet along heavily a few inches at a time. His path was incorrigibly crooked, pulling drastically to the left. He thought people would most likely think of him as intoxicated. Then he remembered the bandages all across his body and realized the image he gave off was far more unsettling in the environment where wealthy people tried to deny the existence of any underworld.

Down on the street, with the flashing lights, loud advertisements, and crowd of party-goers, he felt like his head would explode. Sets of girlfriends gave him a wide berth like they did the homeless druggies, which made sense. He trudged on like a man who could collapse at any moment, hanging to the storefront as the only focal point that didn't whirl around in a nauseating blur. His hands left traces of old blood on the walls that he hacked up in his lungs effort to expulse what had been inhaled from his bleeding mouth.

It created the atmosphere like some B-rated horror film where zombies roam the busiest streets of Tokyo to spread their disfiguring disease in epidemic. Surprisingly, zombie was a word he hadn't heard from the passersby. Vampire and ghoul, yes. Probably from his pale skin and bloody mouth, like a creature of the night out eating flesh. He didn't have a shirt on. It had taken that long to notice that it was November and he was freezing.

Being called ghost made him chuckle wryly. _Didn't that fit the night just perfectly?_

Where was he even going? When he had taken off from the van, he hadn't had a destination in mind, only to get away from where Homra or Scepter 4 could "rescue" him. He _must_ continue.

It felt like he had already walked a whole 5K, even though he had only made it halfway around one city block. He stood, wavering, at the edge of the street, clinging to a light pole for stability. The signal forbid crossing. Quite a few people had gathered, waiting for permission to walk, but only one of them panted like an animal.

He was vaguely aware that at his pace he would never make it across in one cycle, but that was a bit of knowledge currently out of reach of his frontal lobes. Somehow, unconsciously he knew the scientific term for the part of his brain that wasn't functioning, like a little computer running in the background with nothing more useful to contribute than obscure data.

When he pushed off the pole to step forward, his legs buckled beneath him.

Before he could faceplant into the busy street, a hand clamped onto his arm, stating, "There you are."

Fushimi's first thought was that this was Scepter 4's task force, but that wasn't where he knew the voice from. Nor was it Kusanagi come to order him back to the van. Their identity became clearer when they dragged him away from the crowd and sent him barreling into a wall with an abrupt kick to the ribs.

The air was sucked from his lungs by the double impact, and his head roiled from following his back into the brick. He had hardly been on his feet in the first place. With black obscuring the edges of his vision and the inability to take in oxygen, it was no surprise that he wound up on the concrete. All he could really see was a sputtering street light hanging in the narrow gap between two buildings.

The same voice echoed from much closer than it sounded. "Maybe Boss said that was enough of a lesson, but we're not through with you yet."

* * *

After their visit with Cheri, Kazuki and Shun were more informed but at even more of a loss than before. Azami's handler was dead—killed off by his competition who just so happened to be one of the strongest syndicates currently. Not only was Azami unable to hide with her old business associates, but she likely had to hide from the new takeover who could be knocking off the employees of the former leaders. Unless, of course, those employees wanted to pledge allegiance to a new boss, which Azami would flat-out refuse.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Kazuki pondered aloud, "If she's trying to stay out of Green sight and off Ichiban's radar at the same time, where would she go? She's gotta still be here somewhere…Maybe—"

"Didn't Fushimi say he wasn't gonna help look for her?" Shun voiced suddenly.

"Yeah, that's right," Kazuki growled. As much as he hated to admit it, they could probably really use his hacking skills right now.

"Then why is _that_ Blue here now?" Shun asked.

Kazuki spun at his words. " _What?_ "

His partner pointed across the street into the block adjacent to them where a lanky young man with disheveled emo hair and glasses was stumbling along the sidewalk at the corner with what appeared to be the intent to move to the opposite side of the street. Even as they watched, he pressed a hand to his abdomen and reached to a light pole for momentary support.

"What's wrong with him?"

Kazuki shook his head, at a loss. "I don't—Holy crap, he's gonna walk into traffic!"

Shun chased after when his friend took off in a dead run. As they burst out into the crosswalk, though, to their relief and surprise, Fushimi was suddenly jerked from the oncoming deadly vehicles, but not in a gesture of kindness. Instead, his savior continued to roughly drag him backwards into a nearby alley. The two boys passed each other a look of concern and then continued on their course, Kazuki dashing headlong into what was probably a dangerous situation, as per usual.

The taller of the two rounded the end of the alley just in time to see a kick to Fushimi's chest send him slamming into the stone wall behind him, his head striking with a heavy thud. The boy hadn't been in good shape when the Greens first saw him, but after this assault, he didn't even try to right himself as he slid partially down the wall and toppled sideways. With a groan, he slowly turned his head to look for the next attack, his body following so that he rolled to his back.

One assailant, proudly sporting a lopped off ear moved forward to lean over him and dig a toe into his ribs, saying, "Maybe boss said that was enough of a lesson, but we're not through with you yet."

Kazuki counted five attackers, but he was completely unconcerned as he dodged right between all of them and grabbed the lead guy by the fabric on the shoulders of his jacket.

"Hate to break it to you, pal—" He snapped as he hauled the guy off to the side and smashed his face into to opposite building. "—but he doesn't like to be touched!"

"What the hell?" Another goon, one with numerous minor cuts on his face, shouted in surprise and charged toward his comrade under attack.

Hands still secured on the first guy, Kazuki partially pivoted and used him as leverage so he could jump and get his foot high enough to smash the oncoming man in the face. As he staggered backward, gripping his head in pain, Kazuki dug his heels into the pavement and used his momentum to come a full 180 degrees and hurl the first henchman into the second. With a laugh, Kazuki spun to come face-to-face with the next in line—a shorter, skinny guy with wild, wiry hair that made Kazuki grin as the image of a mangy terrier crossed his mind.

"You really stepped in it now, kid."

Kazuki's energy made it to his lower extremities, and he began bouncing side-to-side on the balls of his feet. "Bring it on. I've been looking for an outlet for days now."

He dodged two swipes of a switchblade from the ratty guy with little difficulty, his grin never waivering as he gave the smaller male a warning punch to the side of his head. He would have been a bit more of a challenge if he wasn't favoring his one wrist which was swollen and purple.

"Pay attention, would ya?" the Green chastised him. "I wanna have fun here."

With an enraged yell, the scrapper rushed in and aimed a kick at Kazuki's solar plexus followed by a stab toward his throat. The Green Clansman leaned back from the first and practically skipped away from the second, then found himself quickly having to cross his arms in front of his face to block a hard jab from the burliest of the five.

"That's more like it," Kazuki applauded as he jumped backwards and brought his fist—crackling with green electricity—up to protect his chin.

"What the hell?" rumbled the bruiser. "You got a taser or something, small fry?"

"Something like that," Kazuki smirked and ushered him forward.

With the largest member joining the fray, Kazuki hadn't even noticed the last of the fighters, a man with a shaven head and a pair of tonfa. Luckily, he had a partner to notice what he missed, and since Shun had hung back, he was able to get the drop on the last gang member. Not that it would have been too hard for Kazuki to dodge if he was paying attention; this guy was moving kind of slow due to a seeping wound on one leg.

"Hey man," he addressed the martial artist calmly from behind. The man spun and launched a swing that Shun had been waiting for, and he grabbed the tonfa firmly in one hand. "Can I hold this a second?"

From his palm, currents of green twisted down the weapon and spiraled up the wielders arm. The henchman shouted in pain as the jolt went through his entire body and dropped him to the ground, rendering him incapacitated. By that point, the biggest meathead had noticed his partner's condition and took a swing. When Shun jumped out of the way, he landed right in the middle of the recovering initial duo.

* * *

"Enjoy the rest of your night, Cricket," the cashier called.

"Ja ne," the young woman responded with a tired wave.

She really hadn't wanted to go buy new headphones tonight, but she had been the opener for a new DJ being showcased that evening and very "gracefully" had ripped the plug of her headphones out of the port on her big finish. The angle had been all wrong and had snapped the end almost clean off—the jack cocked to the side and barely hanging on for dear life. She really needed to learn how to stay still when performing.

But then could it really be called a performance? Besides, what could she say? She had quite literally been born with music in her soul. Really, her mother had wanted rock 'n' roll playing during the birth so she could power through the pain. As a result, Cricket couldn't hear any jam with a good beat and stop herself from grooving; she couldn't play music and stay in one spot.

Knowing that would never change, she sprang for some more expensive, wireless headphones this time. She should have done it a long ago, but she just couldn't let go of the sentiments that came with her tried and true pair until the very end. Her father had given her that pair at her first gig, which was the night before his military deployment.

"Hey, DJ!"

Cricket waved to the man as she crossed the street; he was a regular to the VIP room. While she was certain she wouldn't approved of what he did there, he left her good tips and was a genuine fan of her work.

"You're not playing over at the big event tonight?" he asked as he approached her.

Rather than admit that she had declined the offer of the one putting on the party in the past and thus not been invited this time, she avoided it altogether with, "Makidai is running the show over there tonight."

"Too bad," he said. "It's pretty wild right now. I would have stayed except I got a business deal to close. They could have used you to put a bit of finesse on it, though."

"You'll just have to wait 'til next time, I guess," she answered noncommittally.

He bobbed his head and then stepped on by, excusing, "Duty calls."

It really was too bad; Cricket would have liked to be in on a big event like that, not to mention taking part in the competition. It would have been great business practice to scope out the up-and-coming talent, too. But she really didn't want to get involved in anything when Ichiban was a major guest, and that was a big part of why she hadn't even bothered trying to secure a place as a plus-one to any of the other invited entertainers.

After a moment of walking, however, she could see flashing technicolor lights streaking the night sky in the distance and her curiosity got the better of her. There was no reason why she coudln't check it out from afar. Shoving her plastic bag of newly purchased goods into her small backpack, she took off at a run and vaulted over a wall that would allow her to cut through a parking garage.

 _On second thought...the view would be better from a higher point._

She ran to the nearest stairwell and made her way to the third level in a quick minute by leaping back and forth between railings as the stairs wound upwards. Once there, she jogged to the nearest window and jumped the space from the garage to a pipe on the building next door. That was anchored well enough that she could use it to scale her way to the roof. She traversed the city this way, jumping from rooftop to rooftop and from one building to a windowsill on the side of another that allowed her to gain more height, drawing ever nearer to the ongoing party.

Once she reached the rooftop of a building across the street, however, she realized it wasn't quite high enough to see the goings on under the flashing lights. She was about half a story too short and had run out of fire escape. Casting her eyes about the space, she caught sight of a tall, triangular antenna at one end which would serve as a perfect lookout point for her.

Choosing a corner, she started to climb the outside, using the metal supports as a ladder to take her to the spire. The air was cleaner at this height, but that was probably partly due to the breeze that could be felt for the past few days. A stiff gust rushed over her, catching her open hoodie and pushing her sideways so that she had to grip tighter and brace with her feet until it passed. Maybe they had some more weather moving in. She'd have to be extra careful getting back down or else the twins wouldn't have a guardian to come home to. On that note, and in retrospect, this probably was a foolish idea and she should rethink her priorities again later, but she was too high now to just go back down so she kept going.

Once she reached the uppermost spot of her makeshift ladder, she wiggled her way between the riggings and locked her feet amidst the rungs so she could recline against the opposite side of the tower. She zipped her hoodie and nestled her backpack in her lap before she fished her phone out of one of the inner pockets so she could use her camera to zoom in on the party scene.

She could hear the bass from down below, but up here she could feel the very soundwaves vibrating as they thrummed over the tower and with the pulsing of the lights keeping time with the beat, she knew exactly what song Makidai was playing. She bobbed her head a little while she watched the performance for a few minutes, then offered her opinion.

"Not bad, but he should dance around a little. He looks like a real stiff."

Satisfied that she probably wouldn't be losing her job any time real soon, she stayed a while longer to observe the actual dance competitions before deciding to head home so she wouldn't be tempted into trying to dance in the tower and fall to her death. Besides she had earned some much needed rest before the coming night where she would likely have to pull a long shift when all the hungover DJ's at this event couldn't make it in. They thought they were being discreet, but she had seen a couple of them very plainly.

With a final deep breath of the fresh air, she made her descent, not just from the tower, but to the ground as well. She had to cross a large intersection to get home and there wasn't a lot of things to climb in the center. No point in taking chances when she wasn't necessarily in a rush.

A quiet alley near the party skyscraper would allow her to cut across to the intersection, but as she walked into it, the sound of a scuffle drew her attention and she ducked behind a couple boxes for a moment. Fights weren't uncommon, especially not in alleys, but near parties where drugs were likely being exchanged, this was probably not the type of situation she would want to just walk into. Even more so when she could make out a crumpled body between the two groups fighting and her realization of that would make her both a witness and a loose end. There was a fence between them and her, though, so if they hadn't noticed, maybe she could duck out of sight and take the long way home instead.

As she moved to sneak out from behind her cover and back the way she'd come, though, curiosity got the better of her, and she peeked at the intensity of the situation. That's when she saw it—the skinny, pale body, the haphazard hair, the dark-rimmed glasses—it was all too familiar to be a coincidence. That was the guy who had been worried about Azami, and right now two groups were fighting over who got to dispose of him.

What if he _had_ found Azami? Had he told these thugs where she was? Was she in even deeper trouble now than before because of this guy? Cricket couldn't just let him get dumped somewhere without knowing the answers to these questions.

Bursting into a run, she leapt near the fence and punched her feet into the top of a dumpster to make it past what was separating them. The air whistling past her ears curtained her hair out behind her and created some drag so that she had to coil her legs to make it over. No sooner had she rolled through a landing on the other side then she found herself launching an uppercut into the chin of a guy with an already swollen and bloodied face who was coming down on her with the butt of a pistol.

He gave a screech as his teeth smashed into each other and several cracked from the impact. She reached for the nearest object which happened to be the lid of a metal trash can that she gripped with both hands and used to knock the gun from him, then swung into the side of his head. An eardrum ruptured, the force dented the lid, and gave his brain a nice shake which dropped him like a ton of lead.

Unluckily for her, his cries of pain drew the attention of one of his teammates nearby. A monster of a man with brass knuckles thrust his fist at her, glancing off her left ribs as she attempted to sidestep out of the way. Though her side instantly ached, she barely had time to think of a strategy before she about-faced and ran straight at one of the walls. She jumped and took several steps up the rough surface before she pivoted and, with a yell, kicked the guy directly in the face. He staggered backwards as she landed and then toppled completely before her next planned kick met its mark.

It wasn't over, however. She felt a presence behind her and spun to deliver a swift, hard jab into the offender's left cheek.

The boy groaned loudly and cradled the side of his face, conceding, "Alright, alright, guess I shoulda warned you."

"Excuse me?" she growled. Warned her? Was he mocking her?

She wound up for another blow, but he took a half-step back and quickly waved his hand to quell her. "Ah! Wait! We're on the same side, right?" At her look of questioning, he pointed behind her to the body slumped against the wall. "You were trying to help that guy, too. We're not with those goons either. I'm Kazuki. This is Shun."

Those names were familiar. Where had she heard them before? Wasn't it recent?

Her contemplative silence was mistaken for apathy, and Kazuki slowly lowered the hand he had offered to shake. "Okay...uh...you parkour was awesome, by the way."

"Thanks."

 _Parkour. Of course._ Azami had mentioned for a brief second the names in reference to her two best friends. But that was before she had left a note telling Cricket not to talk to anyone about her. Were these guys still her best friends? Could they be trusted?

"So, uh...what do you want with him?"

Cricket glanced over her shoulder in uncertainty. "He's...a fan."

"Fan?" said Kazuki. "Are you a cosplayer or something?"

"Or something," she confirmed and came back to his inquiry. "You?"

"Our best friend is missing and we think he knows where she is," the darker of the two replied.

 _So they were looking for Azami._

They didn't sound malicious about it and they were still calling her their friend. Apparently Azami had more people who cared a lot about her than she originally thought... Did she know that they were looking for her?

What about the injured one—did he really know where she was now? Was he truly a friend of hers, too, or would he try to sell her out? Cricket needed to know she was safe.

Behind the two boys, the big gangster was beginning to stir and she made a quick decision.

"I'm Cricket. Help me get him up. I know a place we can go."

* * *

 _ **Poor Fushimi worked so hard to not be rescued in the end to just be rescued by people he doesn't like. In any case, it's NaNoWriMo this month and Arait is working on an original fic. Sorry to say please don't expect anything from us until sometime in December. Thanks for your patience!**_


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